


The Emperor's Pardon

by orphan_account



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Neil, M/M, Multi, OT3, Past Child Abuse, Raven!Neil, Slow Burn, Yakuza, hopefully not too slow, how do i tag yeyeyeye, man all my favourite aus are canon so what do i tag, sort of not really, triggers will be tagged in the chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months after Kevin Day fled from Riko’s shadow and sought the aegis of the Palmetto Foxes, Riko had thrown a large enough tantrum that Nathaniel was sent to moderate the affair.</p><p> </p><p>prompt: what if neil ended up inheriting his father’s position as the moriyama family's assassin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh…i don’t know how to tag andrew and neil’s attitude, so i guess warning: andrew and neil are in this. i probably butchered the characters, but whatever. write and do fuck all, right?
> 
> [Je Te Veux by Erik Satie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvKmBgxC_s4) inspired this chapter....after I found out Kevin Day is a classical music hoe.....

Nathaniel typically associated Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama with the sick tendrils of pity coiling at his gut. What followed was the sweetness of exhilaration coating his tongue, of genuine fortitude instilled by loyalty to Ichirou. In his eyes, Kevin and Riko were what Nathaniel had been destined to become, though perhaps in lesser grandeur and battered all the more: another one of Tetsuji’s pet projects.

Nathaniel Wesninski emerged from the Moriyama family’s treatment with far more dignity than he deserved, and the luxuries he indulged in were all in due thanks to the true heir to the Moriyama empire. Perhaps that had been the reason as to why he’d held Riko in so little regard. Riko was a child who didn’t acknowledge his position in the Moriyama hierarchy. Ichirou…Ichirou was his salvation and redemption.

Those were the words he lived by as he carried out the young lord’s orders, what had gotten him through the rattling sensation of dismembering a man just as his father did. The same words supposedly demanded what temperance manifested within him for his latest task.

In the months after Kevin Day fled from Riko’s shadow and sought the aegis of the Palmetto Foxes, Riko had thrown a large enough tantrum that Nathaniel was sent to moderate the affair. As the cast-off son of the Moriyama family’s head branch, Riko wasn’t known for delicacy. It was only appropriate that Ichirou sent his viciously faithful attack dog.

Nathaniel repressed this title as he wore Neil Josten’s identity: an inexperienced, Montréal-based striker overflowing with raw talent. The picture of Neil Josten as was stapled onto his records show a careless, tousled mess of brown tresses and a pair of brown eyes that were as ordinary as they came. It was a stark contrast to Nathaniel’s shock of icy blue obscured by the brown lenses as he currently wore.

“You play like your life depends on it—like you have everything to lose.” That was Kevin’s appraisal of Neil Josten, though it remained beyond Nathaniel how the Exy champion was unable to recognize him. Nathaniel’s predilection for anonymity aside, it had only been a few years ago when Nathaniel, Kevin, and Riko faced each other in court. He was unsure whether his thespian skills had anything to do with Kevin’s naïvety, though Kevin regarded him with such a lack of familiarity that Nathaniel concluded that Kevin must be daft.

The champion saw nothing but the sport.

This ignorance did nothing to temper Nathaniel’s paranoia, and so as he felt his way through the familiarity of the Raven drills he was performing, he feigned clumsiness. Showing off didn’t further serve his cover, and so he played Kevin’s frustration with a concealed grin.

Andrew Minyard, who was typically witnessed by the star striker’s side, seemed immune to Kevin’s temperament as he had foregone drills in lieu of observing Neil and the cousins with medicated glee.

Andrew Minyard was the one variable in Neil’s scheme that threatened to unravel its complexity. Within the short duration of Neil’s stay in Palmetto, Andrew was already prodding at the holes in Neil’s identity. It was as if he saw through every masterful craft.

Neil had used his deceased mother’s contacts in Montréal to arrive to his aid when it came to the fabrication of his documents. His new identity earned him an abusive background that catalyzed his infiltration of the Palmetto Foxes, as a result of pulling multiple strings and taking money out of his own pocket. However, this did not seem to satisfy Andrew in particular.

When practice eased towards the end, Kevin felt charitable enough to refrain from barking his criticisms. Or perhaps his throat had gone sore from his screaming. Neil took the liberty in assuming the latter.

“It’s a miracle!” Nicky exclaimed as he sank to his knees, lying down to catch his breath.

“Can you try to not be pathetic?” Aaron said in passing, using his racquet to push away Nicky’s outstretched hand to deny Nicky’s request. Aaron only shot him a withering look and made his way for the exit.

Nicky thus diverted his request to Neil who received a radiant grin and a pat on the back in gratitude when Neil tugged him up.

As they were heading for the locker rooms, Kevin stood in his path with a stern disposition. He shook his head, motioning to the cousins, “They’re done; you’re not. You’re holding back.”

Neil didn’t miss the sympathetic grimace Nicky sent his way, though he only responded with a defeated sigh.

The reaction garnered enough disapproval from Kevin that the champion found himself obligated to express it. “No, don’t give me that. I won’t watch you throw away your potential especially at the cost of what we’re trying to do for the team.”

Neil responded loud enough so Andrew would hear. “You’ve watched _him_ throw away his potential so many times. Is he that special?“

Andrew gasped in mockery. “I’ve been called special before, but this is different. Kevin, why didn’t you tell me I’m your favourite?”

“Andrew is not your concern.” Kevin waved dismissively.

“This—” Neil gestured vaguely between himself and Kevin, “—isn’t mine either.”

Andrew applauded him for that with a snicker. “Kevin, have you already been credited for your stellar selection? This one might just be worse than Gordon.”

Slipping into the casual drawl of the glottal Québécois accent, Neil shrugged. “If you can’t even put a leash on your mutt, how do you expect me to follow?” Having Kevin distract Andrew on his fascination for Neil Josten would be excellent.

“He _is not_ a dog,” Kevin replied as he too transitioned into French.

The heat behind Kevin’s words was enough to spike Neil’s amusement. Memories in the years prior when Neil was left at the mercy of Tetsuji flashed in his mind. Surely then, Neil could recollect that Kevin had no qualms with such terminology, when the fact of the matter was that names were such a tame means of dehumanization to the Ravens.

After his mother had died with Neil’s father pursuing their trail, it had only been a matter of time before Neil found himself entangled yet again with the Moriyamas. He was stolen property, and it had been his father himself who delivered Nathaniel to Tetsuji’s clutches after a week of being interrogated on his mother’s whereabouts. It took his mother’s family that long to track where he buried his mother’s remains. Only then did Nathan Wesninski believe his son’s claim of Mary Hatford’s death.

Upon his return, a battered Nathaniel merely spent a brief collection of weeks training with the Ravens before the Hatfords finally came through with their negotiations and appealed to the young Lord Ichirou’s interest. By then, Neil had been smart enough to gratefully comply with Ichirou’s demands than to be left at the mercy of his barbaric brother. His mother had wished for him not to grow under Tetsuji’s austere tutelage. Five years ago, Ichirou instructed Neil to venture into his father’s methods. By nineteen, Nathaniel Wesninski had grown to become the sharpest blade in Ichirou’s personal arsenal.

At the complaints of their audience, the twins and their cousin, over failing to understand the conversation, he opted to switch back to English. “I don’t care what you think Andrew is. Why should we die over your drills while he does nothing?”

“Because you need this.”

“Not good enough. Thank goodness for Janie, you need me more than I need you. What can you offer?”

“What you want. Put your issues aside and think about what really matters to you. What do you see?” Neil wanted to laugh at Kevin’s narrow perspective of the world. What could he possible see whilst sprinting across a caged court? There was nothing Exy could offer him that possibly eased the shock of tearing a man limb from limb. Exy could not silence the tortured cries of those who faced his blade, could not wash his clothes of the filth and blood which imbrued the exquisite fabric. No such exhilaration could ever numb the jolt of his father’s cold knife grazing his skin. Exy did not return his mother’s proud smile.

Yet, Neil humoured Kevin and his naïve passion. “You.”

“Give your game to me.”

“Only if Andrew does too.”

Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. Sending Andrew a glance, they spent a beat staring at each other. Kevin’s eyes searched Andrew’s, and the permanent grin playing upon Andrew’s lips grew wider.

It was Andrew who broke the silence with a wicked glint in his eyes. “We’ll pick you up for evening practices starting tonight. Be careful what you wish for, Neil.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Neil nodded.

“Good. I want you running court suicides for another half-hour. Take a lap at the end of each set.”

Neil scowled in protest, to which Kevin responded with a raised brow.

Nicky’s objection echoed across the court from where he stood. “Don’t try to kill him, Kevin!”

Neil held Kevin’s gaze, paying heed to the way he glanced at his stopwatch. Measuring Kevin’s anticipation, Neil dashed for the court line with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

There was something about running that felt absolutely liberating to Neil. Suicide drills supposedly honed one’s speed and agility, and Neil was thriving. His legs hardly protested, the pleasant burn working its way through his body actually feeling subdued more than anything. Of course, running had always been easier when Neil didn’t have weights strapped to his ankles. Much to his dismay, holding back on his skill was not an option. His aptitude clearly manifested as Kevin kept count of the number of sets he had finished.

Two pairs of calculative eyes seared holes on his back. A pair of green ones masked pride, without so much as a hint of familiarity or suspicion. Kevin hadn’t remembered him even as he ran, most agile and desperate to escape from the Ravens.

Perhaps it had been in the way he carried himself; Nathaniel, at fourteen, was still weak enough to let his grief impede his performance. Nathaniel had been a battered pawn just as any other Raven, and only saw his worth as Moriyama property. Nathaniel with his spirits burnt low, with an absence of direction and purpose whilst his mother’s death burdened his conscience, had been driven to action by fear.

Nathaniel with the monster that he was now, only saw rage and spite and loyalty as driving forces. Fear was irrational. Rage and spite demanded vengeance and grief. Loyalty was justified. And it was as if the pair of narrowed hazel eyes saw through that, filled with utter distrust and sick fascination.

It only made sense, Neil supposed, that while a monster could conceal his tail, like would call on to like and he’d find himself gravitating towards another of his kind. He played a lethal game, his instincts demanding he eradicate the threat, but Andrew Minyard was as captivating as he was convoluted.

And then there was the matter of his audience: Nicholas Hemmick, who regarded him with unabashed admiration, and Aaron Minyard, who couldn’t give less of a fuck. It had been evident from the start that Nicky was the golden ray of sunshine among the peculiar group of walking storm clouds. The man filled the gaps of silence among the twins and Kevin with his élan, and was surely an instrument that humanized Neil.

However, that was only _if_ Neil knew how to use Nicky. If Neil were to be honest, the older man’s affability unnerved him.

“Are you sure you’re human? Because no mortal has ever survived Kevin’s training. This is absolutely unprecedented, Neil, who _are_ you?” Nicky stared in awe, applauding Neil as they all filed into the locker room.

“It’s really not that big a deal.” The way Nicky’s boisterous gestures were drawing attention upon Neil was unsettling, though Neil reminded himself that Nicky was the closest thing to an involuntary ally as he could get. “It’ll be a struggle getting up from Wymack’s couch tomorrow, though.”

“‘Not that big of a deal,’ he says! What’s your secret? Cardio? How do you do your leg days?”

Neil made a non-committal gesture. “I usually wear ankle-weights for running,” he mumbled, figuring that it was okay to be generous with harmless information. Granted he still inclined towards a wiry physique, the use of weights helped condition his body. He doubted he would get much sparring done as he undertook Neil Josten’s identity, therefore omitting the mention of his tendency to shadow box with weights underwater.

“Okay, so you’re definitely into fitness drills, lucky for Kevin. Lucky for your girl too, I guess.” When Nicky received a bewildered frown, he chuckled lightly and gave Neil a soft nudge. “Come on, are you actually going to tell me you’re single? A pretty guy like you? I mean unless you play for my team—that would be a delight to hear.”

“This makes me want to throw up,” declared Aaron in the back.

“Not on the floor,” Kevin replied dryly as he passed through them.

“Rude! I’m just saying, Neil’s attractive and speaks a language other than English. We have so much in common already.”

“We all speak a language other than English, smartass. In fact, Neil has so much more in common with Kevin than he does with you.” It was now Neil’s turn to feel nauseated at Aaron’s insight.

Nicky had the decency to be offended, earning more of Neil’s respect. “Okay, first of all, how dare you? I’m definitely the obvious choice between me and Kevin. Plus, I’m sure my husband and I can accommodate Neil.”

“Your husband?” Neil blurted out.

“Sort of. It’s close enough. Erik’s working in Stuttgart, so the long distance is a bit of a struggle, but he’s just as open as I am. I’m sure I can convince him to share you, if you’re down.”

“I’ll have to decline.” The thought of intimacy with another individual alone was enough to repel Neil. Sharing a bed with two other people made his skin crawl. “I don’t play for any team.”

The pained noise that Nicky emitted matched his crestfallen visage. “Are you joking? Because that’s not funny.”

“Nicky?”

“Yes, Andrew?”

“Shut up.”

“Right. Sorry.” Nicky visibly deflated.

Aaron released a beleaguered sigh. “Can we go? I’m starving.”

“If only Neil would run along and hop into a stall already. Best cover up, Neil. You wouldn’t want us seeing your scars now, would you?”

“What did you say?”

“That’s what your record said.”

Neil’s blood boiled. He wasn’t at all surprised at the sheer fact that Andrew had broken into his files, though Andrew confirming his suspicion didn’t fail to infuriate him.

“Mind your damn business.” It was evident that Andrew meant to provoke him, seeking out that edge in his voice.

“There wasn’t much to see anyway. What do you think he’s so afraid of showing? You think mommy used the belt buckle ten too many times on his back?” Andrew’s laughter wasn’t intended for Neil as he tossed his glance back to his twin.

“That’s enough,” came Aaron’s strained reply, giving Andrew a pointed look.

“Yeah, I would bet he was hiding something permanent too.”

He began counting to ten, his nails digging against the palm of his hands as his fists turned white. “Shut up.” Neil growled, gritting his teeth.

“Are you ashamed of mommy, or the fact that you think you deserved those scars?”

Neil had almost made it to seven. Almost.

The last three counts melted into actions. One: Andrew anticipated his lunge, though Neil, the agile fighter that he was, directly aimed for Andrew’s forearm. Two: Neil slammed Andrew’s arm to the nearest locker, his speed effectively increasing the magnitude of the impact, and thus, disarming Andrew. The sound of a switch blade clattering against the ground gave a discordant noise that shook Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin out of stupefaction. Three: Neil’s legs protested as he fought to pin his weight on Andrew, pressing his forearm to Andrew’s trachea. Andrew’s laughter deteriorated to hysterics.

It took another second before Nicky and Kevin managed to successfully pry Neil off Andrew. It was second long enough for Neil to realize that Andrew found what he was searching for. Andrew’s eyes had a manic glint, his grin spread wide. “Hello, Neil! Thank you for gracing us with your presence!”

“Don’t fuck with me!”

“Neil!”

“Your dog, Kevin! Control your dog or I’ll put him down myself,” Neil snarled in French.

He shook off their grip and made his way to the showers, cranking the dial to its highest temperature. He stood in the shower, fury wrecking through his body, infused in his veins where his blood continued to boil. Staring ahead with his jaw clenched, he focused on the scalding heat, rose hues flourishing on his skin as he sought to realign his thoughts and put aside what had spilled over in his rage.

He fought to ignore what Andrew’s words summoned, the guilt of his mother’s death and his failure to honour her wishes, and willed away the phantom memories of every faded bruise.

The plan was to carry out Ichirou’s orders as cleanly as possible, and Neil thought as he wanted nothing more than to feel every struggling breath against his palm that Andrew was going to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple of things:  
> i decided it would be better if neil's cover said he hailed from montreal so then his french would be way more justified than if he came from millport. montreal was also one of the cities mentioned in the canon that neil and his mother ended up hiding out in for a while, so it fits! yay! :D i love montreal!!!  
> neil working under ichirou means that yes, he speaks japanese too. dam my salty polyglot son... :')
> 
> comment, please? i'd love to hear what you have to say. feel free to hmu on tumblr [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/) if you got any questions xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the butchering of precious characterization continues. it's 6am on a saturday morning. i've been up since the asscrack of dawn. go figure what crawled out of satan's asshole and decided to prevent me from sleeping in.
> 
> [Les Temps de l'Amour by Françoise Hardy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITYVXUvMtHI) check it out. it's pretty rad.
> 
> this is a pretty tame chapter, i think? aside from playing with knives what else is there to mention? canon-typical violence? alcohol??? insane amounts of attitude issues? neil not being shy on his death threats?

Neil’s calves burned from his usual run, the weights around his ankles fuelling the flames of fatigue that lapped at his muscles. As talented as he was, spending his days in the monotony of Raven drills was wearing him down if not physically, then mentally.

Exy was a sport he tolerated at his best, and cursed to all hell at his worst. Picking up a racquet under Ichirou’s order demanded he renounced his mother’s wish never to spare Exy another sliver of his attention. Though he despised to admit it, stepping into the court still felt just as much as stepping into an enclosure. Associating Exy with his abbreviated training as a prospective Raven was instinctual, the metallic taste of blood invading his mouth at the sheer memory.

The midnight practices only further burdened his guilt, his prolonged time spent in court sending his thoughts into disarray. Exy was not good for him—not when it sent him spiralling into eddies of doubt and confusion and bitter reminiscence.

The steady droning of a French news radio station eased his mind into ominous silence. In his brief time spent fleeing from his own father, his mother had gotten him accustomed to listening to the AM radio to keep up with current events. In the past, it was this sort of vigilance that had kept him and his mother safe. He supposed the AM radio brought him a small semblance of that safety. Nicky picked on his lack thereof music genre preference, his inclination for the AM radio earning him the title of oddity.

He dragged his legs up to Wymack’s apartment, and spun his keys on his index finger as he made his way to the door. A resounding thud accompanied by discordant clattering raised Neil’s alarms, tugging his earbuds out whilst his fingers brushed where he concealed his butterfly knife. Inching closer to Wymack’s apartment, he unlocked the door and swiftly slipped inside, shutting the door at the sound of glass shattering.

“You don’t understand, he’s going to kill me if I keep hiding here. He’s not going to stop, he’ll find a way to bring me home. He’s not going to stop at Janie. I—I shouldn’t have come to you. I should have gone elsewhere. I can’t go back, I can’t—I should go. Maybe this can still be fixed. He’ll take me in again.” It took a few beats for Neil to register the owner of the raw and tremulous voice. A curious circumstance it was for Neil to find Kevin submerged in trepidation, stripped bare of his usual bravado.

“Stop pacing and sit down. You’re not going anywhere.” That had been Wymack’s attempt at consolation. Neil respected that.

“He won’t take no for an answer!”

“He’ll have to. He has to get past me and Andrew before he can even get to you. Just don’t say a word and keep away from him.”

Neil toed off his shoes and crept further to the living room, his back flush against the wall as he toyed with his knife. He listened as the silence dragged on, Kevin’s stuttered breathing somehow grating on his nerves.

It took a while before Kevin managed to calm down, and even when he spoke, his voice was far too fragile. “I need to hear it from Jean. Give me your phone.”

Ah, yes. Neil remembered Jean Moreau rather vaguely from his past. Granted Neil had been in a state of delirium when he first interacted with the boy, from what he remembered, Jean was his supposed partner until Ichirou fished Neil out of that cesspool. Ichirou’s lackeys who frequented visits to Edgar Allan often spoke of the sorry state of the Ravens amongst themselves. It appeared that Neil dodged a bullet as he was told of the atrocities Riko had inflicted upon Jean. Neil would have been another one of Riko’s shock absorbers had Ichirou not taken an interest in him. Jean was a reminder of just how much of Neil’s life he owed to Ichirou.

Kevin was speaking in French, desperation heavy in his words. “Tell me Edgar Allan isn’t being transferred.”

Interesting. Neil had discussed with Ichirou the prospects of his idiot brother blowing things out of proportion. From what he gathered, Riko had already arranged drugging freshman Janie Smalls, impairing her memory had she survived the orchestration of the so-called suicide. It was Riko’s pathetic attempt at rattling Kevin and the Foxes’ morale, though in all truth, it only brought further advantage to Neil’s infiltration.

It seemed that in addition to that, Riko had found a way to have his looming presence all the more palpable. Neil wondered just how much trouble Riko and Tetsuji went through for the district change.

He filed the information in his mind for when he would be summoned to report his findings.

The sound of the cushion creaking beneath a sudden weight and the panicked sigh of dejection told Neil that Kevin only heard what he’d been dreading and opted to sink to the couch. Footsteps approached as Neil continued toying with his knife, Wymack startling at his presence. He didn’t stop as he continued walking in the hallway, reappearing with a bottle of vodka.

“Drink. I’ll be right back.” Neil’s respect for the man continued to grow. Entering Palmetto, Neil had been preparing himself for the onslaught of potential paternal and maternal concern from authority figures. He preferred Wymack’s methods over parental doting any day.

Wymack paced out of the living room just as Neil tossed his butterfly knife in the air, catching it by the hilt. Spinning the knife to a close, he jerked his head in the direction of the hallway and slid the knife into his sleeve.

The door clicked shut behind them as they stood in the deserted hall.

“You’re not another Andrew, are you?” Wymack asked, more gruff than concerned.

“Oh no.” Neil shook his head. “Andrew has questionable principles and a strong sense of self-preservation; mine are nonexistent.” The flatness in his tone made it ambiguous as to whether he was sarcastic or not—he was not.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough. How much time do you have before Andrew finds out?”

“The request was approved this morning. Edgar Allan will officially be part of the southeastern district on June 1st. He’d know by then.”

The thought of having to face Riko once again in court evoked the hatred festering within him.

Ichirou had sent Neil to oversee the predicament and clean up after Riko’s mess, though there was another reason as to why Neil so eagerly pounced at the opportunity. The young lord and his attack dog had agreed that should Riko become less of an investment and more of a liability, they didn’t have any qualms towards doing the world a favour and ridding the world of another petulant brat. Neil intended to walk away with Riko’s head on a platter for Ichirou.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Wymack noted.

“Why should I? Tetsuji practically owns the ERC. Besides, everyone wants to pit the two stepbrothers against each other for profit. Complaining to those savages wouldn’t do much, would it?”

“It wouldn’t, but there’s another factor at play here. You can’t go back on your word to a Moriyama. It’s an open secret between the team, but I wanted to wait until you get settled down before I told you. This didn’t leave me much of a choice, so I’ll have to tell you now. Their business—”

“I know about them.” Neil didn’t know what possessed him. Perhaps he just didn’t want to hear how others perceived the Moriyama hierarchy, seeing as how he understood it best.

Wymack frowned. “You do?”

“Kevin told me.” Neil lied.

“I didn’t know you were getting along so well.”

Neil shrugged. “We have a lot in common.” That was true enough.

“I need you to keep this a secret until I sort out this mess. Can I trust you to do that?”

“There’s no one to tell.”

“Good. I need to make sure Kevin hasn’t done anything stupid. Do you mind staying out for a bit? It’d be best if he didn’t see you for now.”

Neil thought of the sorry state Kevin was in and frowned. “Actually, coach, can I take him out for a walk? Clear his mind?”

Wymack paused for a bit, brows knitted as his eyes searched through Neil’s passive disposition.

“I wouldn’t let him get hurt—that would jeopardize our chances.”

Neil knew what he saw: another kid who saw no fear even at the thought of facing the son of mob boss. Had Neil stayed with the Ravens, there was a possibility that he’d be just as spineless as Kevin, however the circumstances didn’t dictate so.

Monsters like Neil didn’t fear a child of wealth; Riko didn’t deserve that. Neil feared his father, feared that Ichirou would sever his ties with him and leave him defenceless, but he didn’t fear those with simpler minds.

“Return him by four.”

Neil returned inside, heading straight for the living room where Kevin sat, eyes bloodshot and distant as he took another swig of vodka. Swerving past the haphazard mess, Neil unstrapped his ankle weights with a fluid motion and deposited them on the seat beside Kevin, plucking the bottle from his grip to have a taste.

He hummed in satisfaction, pointing at a weary Wymack. “Stoli. Good choice.” Turning his head to Kevin, he said, “ _Allons-y_.”

“Where?” Kevin’s voice was hollow. Something peculiar was stirring in Neil, unsure as to what it was, though he knew he was decent enough not to give Kevin any pity. Pity never did anyone any good. Pity was the last thing one could offer to someone else, and it was also the worst. Pity was something people offered when they had nothing else to give.

“ _Allons-y,_ Kevin.”

“Where?” Kevin repeated.

With an impatient click of his tongue, he grabbed Kevin by his collar and hissed in his ear in French. “Do you make Riko repeat himself that much too? We’re going for a walk, Kevin. It’s not like I’ll kill you.”

Kevin’s eyes widened as he pulled back and glanced at Neil. “What—“

“Now.”

Kevin followed him out, staggering as he did so. Behind them, Wymack shouted a reminder to return Kevin by four, and Neil gave a wave of acknowledgement as they exited the premises.

Neil handed Kevin his vodka back, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulling out a stick to light it up. Out of courtesy, Neil offered Kevin a cigarette as they walked aimlessly.

“I’m an athlete,” Kevin declined coldly.

“There you are. I thought you were gone for a minute there,” Neil maintained his French, subtly hinting at Kevin to follow suit.

There was a pregnant pause as Kevin only continued to drown himself with alcohol, Neil holding the cigarette between his fingers as the smell of smoke surrounded them.

Kevin was too quiet for his liking, the calmness washing over his posture coming off forced, more than anything. “What are you thinking?”

“What’s a Québécois doing when he casually slips into a Parisian accent?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “That was on purpose. The dialect doesn’t come to me naturally.”

“Who are you?”

“A potential line of protection—your strongest one, if you pass the interview.”

Kevin came to a halt. “I mean it, Neil, who are you?”

“Do me a favour and figure that out for yourself, would you? I represent an interested party who just might grant you your freedom. Who I am doesn’t matter right now.”

“How do you know about Riko?”

Nathaniel’s brows shot up in question. “Do you really want to know?”

Kevin scowled at him. “What do you want?”

“What you want,” Nathaniel replied, mocking Kevin’s words. “I need to know that you can follow orders. I just found out the entire team knows about Riko and the master, which is a huge security concern in itself. You make my job any harder than it needs to be, and I’ll have no qualms getting the clearance to slit your throat.”

Kevin staggered back, his balance suffering from his fear and the effects of almost finishing the bottle. Nathaniel had to catch Kevin and set him down on the sidewalk. “You’re from the main branch.”

Instead of confirming or denying Kevin’s accusation, Nathaniel proclaimed, “I need incentive to kill Riko.”

“That’s impossible.” Nathaniel accepted Kevin’s doubt. Neither of them had forgotten the sight of Nathaniel’s father cutting a screaming man into pieces for slandering the second branch. The were mere children then, the memory perpetually searing itself into their minds.

However, Nathaniel wielded his knives under the aegis of the main branch’s heir when he should have been another chew toy for the second branch. His father had been imprisoned for some time now, shouldering the burden of the second branch’s indiscretion. Essentially, ‘impossible’ did not belong to his lexicon. “Is it? You haven’t got much of a choice here, Kevin. The moment you get in my way, you’re out.”

Nathaniel felt Kevin tremble against his hold, the weight of the situation sinking down on the champion. “What do you need me to do? I just play Exy.” The broken cadence in which Kevin admitted that was utterly vexing. It reminded Nathaniel of his battered self, one who saw no purpose in his life upon being imprisoned with the Ravens. He’d uttered those same words to Ichirou once and received a beating for sparing himself the attention for self-pity.

“Believe it or not, you’re a huge investment. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be alive right now. I just need to know where your loyalties lie, if you’re sane enough to know what’s good for you.” Nathaniel’s patience was waning as he repeated his words.

“Kengo’s health is declining. They sent you here to clean up any loose ends just in case the empire shifts powers.”

“Keep your dog on a leash and your mouth shut. Play it out while I build a case against Riko.”

Kevin snapped at him. “He’s not a dog, Neil.” He didn’t know why the word ignited so much anger in Kevin. Had it been an awful reminder of what Kevin had chosen to tolerate as a Raven? Kevin stood just a tier lower than Riko in the hierarchy and had been granted immunity against such abuse. Nathaniel wondered if the action only served to play Kevin’s guilt.

Disappointment flooded through him as he drew a warm breath from the cigarette, flame consuming his lungs before he blew out a puff of smoke in Kevin’s face. Kevin hadn’t recognized him at all. “And I said I don’t give a shit what you think he is. I only need permission for you.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

Neil sighed, flicking out his knife. Kevin visibly tensed at the sight, his jaw tightening. Dropping the folded knife on Kevin’s lap, he opted not to mock the man any further, “No, sadly, you don’t seem smart enough for that. I don’t know what you have with Andrew, but keep yourselves out of my way. Understood?”

Kevin nodded numbly, picking up the knife with calculated interest.

“The moment Andrew hears the truth from your mouth, it’s over. Just do what you do best and play.”

“I still need your game. You promised to do your best.”

How people assumed they could win an argument against Neil was absolutely beyond his understanding. Neil had an inherent gift with words, his talent further refined and polished under Ichirou’s instruction. “No, I promised to give just as much effort as Andrew does. Make him care.”

“He will,” Kevin spoke with an admirable quality of determination.

“Good luck with that,” Neil scoffed, snagging the bottle and taking another sip.

“You’ll see. Soon enough he’ll grow tired of his apathy.”

Neil considered how smoothly he’d unraveled the facts of the matter to Kevin, and how he’d managed to keep his identity a secret in the process. Kevin had enough fear in him to respect the decisions of the main branch, though it remained a precarious gamble nonetheless. On typical occasions, Neil would not have bothered risking his own neck—especially for someone so naïvely passionate as Kevin. Neil didn’t know what compelled him to offer portions of the truth as distraction.

Neil only recognized echoes of his former self in Kevin, and the sick jealousy that lurched at the pit of his gut when he saw fire in Kevin’s eyes. He wondered if Kevin would become just as enamoured with the sport had his early years not been woven into that of Riko’s and Tetsuji’s lives. Feeling passion for something so honest was a dying art—one Neil had been deprived of. It spiked Neil’s curiosity just how long the great Kevin Day could manage to keep it aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brother's infernal alarm has been ringing for ten minutes now. i'm :~) in :~) hell :~).
> 
> it's still very boring but okay but holy shit guys, i didn't expect this much response from this garbage??? fock??? thank you??!!!! i will work towards replying soon :') i'm just sufferin from exams ;)
> 
> hmu on tumblr [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/) if you got any questions. also, comments are beautiful. i love hearing what y'all gotta say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down. buckle up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!content warnings!!!: neil's anxiety and paranoia is pretty evident, light gore, a bit of blood is drawn, but everyone is safe, neil's thoughts are pretty fucked up and he doesn't see fault in his abusers (yet?), he has no means of channeling his fear unless it's translated into anger and violence, there is a moderately good amount of violence in this, knives are drawn, skin is pierced, he and kevin are both triggered
> 
> also, i really don't edit my shit bc i don't have the patience or attention span, but i swear to fucking god, watch out for this chapter. it's absolutely horrible. it's gonna be a fuckin landmine of garbage. it's fucked. everything is fucked. why did i write this?
> 
> [Milord by Edith Piaf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwe3CzWZ4Bg) i love her sm. trust tho, not all the chapter songs will be french oldies music, though it's really pretty!!!! so!!!! can u blame me??!!

In the following days to come, Neil found that temperance was a virtue he would never wield with decent proficiency. It was difficult not to launch himself at Kevin Day’s throat, baring his teeth and holding him at knifepoint for every insufferable word that pushed past those lips.

The man continued to push him in drills, moving past standard exercises and tailoring them specifically for Neil as a striker, barking orders at his ear and reminding him of his shortcomings. On evenings, Kevin meticulously dissected his performance, frustration evident in the way he ran his fingers through his hair.

What had previously sent Neil amusement at the sight of Kevin’s indignation had devolved to irritation. Neil almost found himself vying against Andrew for a trace of approval if it weren’t for many reasons; one of which was the fact that Neil was programmed to despise Exy, and another being that Andrew only saw Exy as a means to an end.

Kevin Day was a lucky man considering he didn’t have a blade lodged in his gut as of yet.

Andrew didn’t make it any easier, his ability to arbitrarily toss bon-mots into the air testing Neil’s patience one raillery at a time. The crazy midget, his twin, and his cousin ensured it so that Neil found almost no the opportunity to be alone.

It was due to that that Neil made the most out of his solitude in Wymack’s apartment, sorting out his thoughts and restructuring his analyses on Riko and Kevin.

Rummaging through his duffel bag, he dug out his binder containing detailed profiles of key players within this affair. His job as a spectator demanded he gave an impartial judgement, though Neil also played by his own interests. Neil wanted to get rid of Riko—and for a plethora of reasons, most of which involved pleasing Ichirou’s own interest in the deliverance of Riko’s demise. Nathaniel was going to emerge from all this with enough incentive to damn Riko to hell if it was the last thing he did.

He laid out his neatly folded pile of nondescript clothes onto the coffee table, grimacing at the texture of threadbare fabric. Working under Ichirou demanded he maintained a professional business attire as his uniform, blending in amongst the sea of corporate folk in New York that surrounded Ichirou during the day. Having grown accustomed to bespoke suits, the sudden downgrade to plain, loose-fitting fashion was staggering.

Next were his surplus of phones, identical to the one he carried. They were of the latest model, though he never gave the device enough attention to actually get acquainted with its functionality. He only needed it in order to make digital copies of his notes, to be delivered by Ichirou’s liaison to the man himself.

Upon filing his notes, he laid them out on the couch and began taking pictures of the pages, omitting those based on pure speculation. When he was finished, he ejected the micro-data card and tucked it within his wallet’s coin pouch beside his emergency supply of brown contacts. He fired a text to Ichirou, informing him that he was ready to send his report before giving his phone a final sweep and deleting all of its memory.

Ichirou was bound to contact him soon—possibly through a liaison which was a sensible thing to do, since there wasn’t any subtlety in personally flying south for a clandestine meeting. A phone call, or anything within those lines risked the potential of eavesdroppers, therefore, Neil’s report demanded it be done in person.

He glanced at the time. He only had a few minutes before Wymack returned from whatever business he conducted. The other Foxes were supposedly arriving today, and he anticipated their presence to dampen that of Andrew’s lot for the sake of his sanity.

Organizing Neil Josten’s possessions in a clinical manner, he moved to put everything away in his duffel bag. Matt Boyd arrived minutes later with Wymack tossing a set of dorm keys to each of them and having them sign through some paperwork before they were ushered out of the apartment.

The ride with Matt on the way to Fox Tower was a rather pleasant one. Neil figured he belonged to the saner components of the team, his amiability never truly pushing Neil beyond his level of comfort. After having spent time with Andrew’s lot, it was almost a breath of fresh air to meet someone who knew how to respect boundaries.

“Hey man, seriously, just holler if you need help with Kevin,” Matt offered with a grin as Neil helped him lug his furniture into their dorm. “I’ll kick his ass for you.”

Neil brushed it off with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious. The offer stands for my entire stay here.”

“Have you got something against Kevin?”

Matt paused with a quizzical look. “After meeting the guy, you’re telling me you _haven’t_ got anything against him?”

Neil shrugged. “It’s Andrew who’s the real concern here.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a hopeless case, but keep out of stabbing distance, and you should be good.” A buzz alerted Matt of a notification on his phone. Nodding to himself, he pocketed the device and told Neil, “Dan wants to make sure you’re still okay after having to deal with the monsters. She wanted to arrive early for your sake, though I have to say, you held your own against them.”

“They’re intriguing.” Neil was careful with his words, unsure as to how to articulate what he truly felt for the group if he wasn’t visualizing a dramatic end for Andrew and Kevin.

Matt whistled lowly. “That is one skewed perspective. If you have such low standards with company, then allow Dan and Renee to raise them up a bit. Do you want to come with? I’m picking them up at the airport.”

Neil considered his chances. At the current time, his duffel bag laid in his drawer, his mattress bare and his belongings unsafe. “I think I’ll pass. I have to shop for sheets.” And a lock for his drawer, and hair dye. He figured another week and his roots would start to show.

Matt left after thanking Neil for his help, extending his hand for another handshake.

Sparing a glance at his duffel, he procured a standard lock hidden from within the pockets and locked the zippers in place. It was a temporary fix to his problem as he shopped for sheets, hair dyes and locks, ultimately resorting to buying a fireproof safe where he planned to store his reports on Riko. He arrived in time to find Matt’s truck in the parking, cursing the circumstances as he heaved the safe up to his dorm.

Examining the lock he had previously placed on his bag, his heart stuttered at the sight of a near-flawless attempt at picking the lock. It was easy to disregard the microscopic scratches surrounding the keyhole, though careful folk like him knew better. Those scratches were too small to be made by keys.

Paranoid.

People mocked his white-glove approach towards his job—his irascibility towards poor craft. What they saw was a faithful shadow moulded with austerity by Ichirou himself, having forgotten the echo of the grieving child that he was. Ichirou had built for him an identity in which he upheld, his volatility unbeknownst to some.

Examining the contents of his duffel, he nodded to himself as he was hit with the sudden realization of what Andrew Minyard was capable of. Andrew had been careful enough to place Neil’s clothes in the same neat order, though the way within Neil folded the tags on his clothes had been left tampered with.

None of the contents within his binder had been taken—his stash of brown lenses remained where they were, wedged between makeshift sleeves along with a collection of empty sim cards and data cards—yet the offence succeeded in grating on his nerves. His mind rang with every thought screeching at his imperfection.

He could have received a beating from his mother for this, could have received detached condescension from Ichirou whilst he suffered through the repercussions. Every gash and bruise inflicted would have been what he deserved. He risked his safety through his sloppiness.

Blood made his ears ring, the sight of red consuming him. Spinning a set of lock picks he’d inherited from his mother, he strode across the hall and crouched before the door of Andrew’s dorm, laughing bitterly to himself at how easy it was to break in. Sloppy.

This wasn’t fear he felt infused in his veins, but anger whose intensity augmented it to irrationality— _it wasn’t fear_. His mind was a collection of echoing frantic apologies, and he gave himself enough time to compose his disposition as he took in the shock of the room’s occupants.

Andrew sat by the window, a cigarette fixed between his fingers. He was the quickest to react, grinning as he opened his mouth to speak when Neil shot him a murderous glare. They held each other’s gaze for several beats, the taunting glint in Andrew’s eyes urging Neil to emerge from his skin.

“Wasn’t that locked?” Nicky asked in German to Aaron who perched himself on a beanbag beside him. The suspicion writ within his visage disappeared just as quickly as he switched to English. “Hey, Neil—“

But Neil was already striding across the room, refusing to grant Andrew the satisfaction. He grabbed a startled Kevin by the collar, using Kevin’s shock as momentum to knock him off his balance and throw him against the wall.

Kevin struggled to establish his balance, eyes wild and incredulous as he struggled to break past Neil’s grip. Neil’s only tightened his hold, kicking Kevin’s legs as he brought him down to his eye level. His nails dug deep on Kevin’s left arm, tracing across the scar. Satisfaction hit Neil as he saw nothing but absolute trepidation in those green eyes.

A blade was already digging just beneath his ribs, precisely aimed up where his liver was. Neil had to give Andrew credit; he was good.

“What did I tell you, Kevin? All I asked was for you to keep your pet on a leash. Is that so much to ask for?” Neil hissed in Kevin’s ear, foregoing the Québécois as he spoke in French.

“You actually thought I have control over him? He’s a human being, not an animal.”

“Because the righteous Kevin Day knows what humanity is all about! Don’t be so full of yourself!” He didn’t know a damn thing. All he saw was Exy.

“This is all very interesting,” Andrew drawled behind him. “However, I think this would be more infatuating if the conversation included me.”

Neil’s eyes flicked towards his surroundings, from Aaron’s intention to remain a spectator, to the absolute concern on Nicky’s face. Nicky’s eyes pleaded for temperance as he motioned for Neil to consider the knife pressed at his back.

A slow grin worked its way on Neil’s lips as he challenged that threat, pushing himself back on the blade just enough to cut through his clothes and break skin. Andrew wasn’t going to risk his parole for him—not when he wasn’t actually harming Kevin physically.

His grip on Kevin’s arm was tight enough that he felt blood on the tips of his fingers.

He kept up his French for another moment. “Did the master ever teach you a lesson on discipline? That’s odd, Kevin, he should have. You’re property just like the rest of us.”

Kevin glowered at him, though he grew less convincing as he trembled at the mention of the name.

“No? Well, you can only expect incompetence from the second branch. How about a lesson from me, then? I’m giving you one last chance in our deal, but not without consequence.” Blood was trickling down his clothes, though he knew enough about knives to acknowledge that it was merely a cut on the surface. He switched to English as bewilderment consumed Kevin’s face. “Hey Andrew? Stay out of my things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neil hummed. “Then you clearly don’t know a lot, especially with the Ravens moving into the southeastern district this year.”

And there it was: the infusion of shock with fear on Kevin Day’s face.

“Did Kevin never tell you? I thought you guys were close. Can everyone pretend to act surprised when Wymack announces it later?”

“You’re a fucking monster,” Kevin’s voice was so small it passed off as a whisper.

“You’re not the only one who can go back on a promise. At least I’m not a useless cripple though.”

Neil wasn’t an idiot. Kevin was easily greater in strength through sheer muscle mass alone, strong enough to push both Neil and Andrew away. Andrew was quick enough to retract his hand so his knife wouldn’t actually pierce through Neil. The two of them fell back. Neil rolled to absorb most of the impact, pushing himself up with one fluid motion, though Kevin was ahead of him.

As the shock of his back colliding with the walls of the dormitory sent jolts down his spine, he realized just how much he had been deprived of within the past few weeks. He needed this, the heat thrumming underneath his skin and his heart beating against his chest. His mind narrowed towards the instance of a fight, and he didn’t need a damn reason other than survival.

Summoning the rest of the Foxes inside the room, they invited themselves inside through the ajar door and caught sight of Kevin wrapping his hand around Neil’s neck. The action had Neil flicking out the switchblade concealed within his sleeve, pressing it to the bend of Kevin’s arm. He threatened Kevin with a swift arterial incision, and it was the most alive he’d felt in weeks.

The exhilaration was short-lived, as Matt arrived to wrench Kevin away from Neil, tucking Kevin into a secured hold.

“Let me go, asshole!”

“Day, shut up. Break it off. Neil, put the knife down,” came Matt’s growl. “ _Now,_ Neil!”

Neil flicked the blade, securely shoving it up his sleeve.

Andrew was grinning across from him. “I’m learning more and more about you everyday, Neil.”

In that moment, Kevin managed to slip past Matt’s grip through his struggles, landing a swing on Matt.

“That’s enough! It’s only our first day back. Can we get a damn break around here?” The voice snapped with clarity, clearly unfazed by the fight. “One more punch, and I swear to God—I don’t care who’s in the wrong. Kevin, don’t give me that look.”

Danielle Wilds was an unforgiving tempest, striding across the room to place herself between them. Not a semblance of fear made its way to her eyes—none that Neil could read in her leonine gait, entrenched with fortitude and courage.

“Will some one explain to me what the hell is going on?” She snarled, her eyes cautiously scanning the surroundings and landing on Neil, narrowing. “You’re not another Andrew, are you?”

“Dan, a little wisdom in your judgement would be appreciated. I find that statement offensive,” Andrew snickered.

“I don’t want to hear another word unless it’s an explanation.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Neil replied, and he knew of the general consensus that the statement was false. Still, when the manic edge had all but burnt out, Neil was already chastising himself for his impetuosity. He had to clean up his own mess. “I may have said something that set Kevin off. Pulled out my knife on instinct to defend myself. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s way more than a defensive instinct. Andrew, he was ready to kill him.” Nicky mumbled behind them in German. “And what’s this district change he’s talking about?”

Neil cleared his throat. “I’m really not another Andrew. This will be the last time this happens. It was my mistake.”

“We were getting along well, Dan. This is all a case of unfortunate timing.” Andrew said. “Neil has a lovely temperament. In fact, he just asked earlier if he could catch a ride with us to the stadium.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true, actually,” Neil seconded Andrew. It didn’t matter that they were planning on cornering him. He wasn’t going to say a damn thing. “I thought I wouldn’t fit in Matt’s truck with you guys.”

Dan held on for another beat longer, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed into daggers. It was Matt laying a hand on her shoulder that eased her posture. “This ends now,” she ordered, glaring at every single one of them.

“You needn’t worry. Everything is all right. And Neil, I suppose we’ll see you later? Really, don’t run.”

“I won’t run from you.”

Andrew left first, heading for his room and the entire lot followed. Kevin, who had been avoiding Andrew’s eyes this whole time, casted Neil a spiteful look as he followed Andrew to his room with apprehension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i finished 3/4 exams. my final exam is law, which is on friday. i don't know why i'm taking a university course in high school haha fuck this shit. i personally have no clue how andrew is canonically taking criminal justice studies. anyone who has ever been to a court room before knows how fucking boring that shit is. honestly, he takes trolling to a whole new level.
> 
> this is more of a writing break. i really hate how this chapter came out. i planned to put in 12 things, and managed to write 3 into this chapter. what bs. and now that i have this fic, updated, it's time to write a ten-page essay on CIA assassinations for my u-politics class. :-) fun :-) save me pls
> 
> my tumblr is right here: [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/)  
> and please, feel free to comment. i thrive with each one. they give me so much motivation. i love them!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i died for a bit. i'm back. sorta.
> 
> cw: brian seth gordon and his homophobic mouth, neil's anxiety + paranoia 2.0, toxic victim mentality 2.0, description of his scars, topless neil (fock sorry), wordiness, shitty styling bc tired
> 
> [Supermassive Blackhole by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgvLej8ln2w) matt bellamy is a musical god

Neil was assaulted by plebeian domesticity the instant he was ushered into Dan’s dorm. An evidence to that fact would be the sweet tea he cradled in his hands as he sat with Dan and Matt, the two of them doing so with their fingers laced. Dan was leaning herself against Matt’s shoulder with an expression that seemed to indulge in the sublimity of being in Matt’s presence, and Renee, the benevolent soul that she was, listed her ideas on upcoming charity projects.

The gash Neil sported had long stopped its bleeding, having taken a detour to his room to change out of his bloodied shirt and douse the area with peroxide. He at least owed the three some decency not to smear his blood everywhere.

The three didn’t impose, didn’t make any efforts to intrude into the matter after Neil gave them an ambiguous, less-than-credible reply. Things weren’t fine, and they acknowledged that. It seemed they knew enough to understand it was a matter that demanded settling between Neil and Andrew’s lot. It was also evident that they recognized Neil’s ability to fight, which he merely shrugged off with the defence of his upbringing. They nodded at his casual response, though the wariness had yet to ebb away.

Neil noted the way Renee’s observant eyes seemed to detect the edge in his movements, and registered that anomalous glint as he met her gaze. It made him smile at the small cross she wore and her inclination for charity, as beneath all that, what Neil saw was a reformed sinner. Renee wasn’t a threat—not in the way Andrew was, though just as lethal if she willed herself to be. Neil respected her with the unspoken promise of tempering himself. He would not ruin the peace she had built for herself without good reason.

Nicky arrived and made his presence known after Wymack had called and informed them of Allison and Seth’s arrival. The signature grin that he wore failed to meet his eyes, though he behaved well enough to conceal that.

Dan sent Neil off with some parting words for Nicky to ensure Neil’s safety, Nicky chuckling in good nature and mocking her lack thereof faith in him.

Nicky seemed bothered enough that Neil was sure Nicky would interrogate him, and yet—“So when do you plan on teaching me some pickup lines? Kevin actually flipped me off when I asked him, so the responsibility falls on you now.”

Neil shrugged. “You never asked.”

“Sure, but you’ve _met_ me. Come on, Neil, that’s cold. I thought we’re closer than that.”

Neil remained silent as they reached the stairwell, considering calling Nicky out on his bullshit and having Nicky ask. Nicky obviously sided with his cousin, though he was kind enough to worry over Neil’s safety too. Perhaps this was what people referred to when they mentioned _human compassion_. Strange.

Neil opted to play along with Nicky’s distraction instead. “Try this: _Où est ma tête?_ ”

“What does it mean?”

“Try it.”

“ _But what does it mean?_ ”

Nicky let out a whine as he pulled out his phone, searching for a translation as he gave a rough imitation of a Parisian accent. Neil remained passive as Nicky groaned at the result. “Why are you so cruel?”

“Google exists for a reason.”

They arrived at the parking lot and Neil was shoved between Aaron and Andrew, Kevin claiming shotgun yet again. Nicky drove whilst Andrew talked. Neil, through it all, planned to keep his mouth shut, his legs sprawled without shame and his arms crossed to his chest.

Aaron tried his best to kick Neil’s leg away from his personal space, whereas Andrew merely countered it, sprawling against Neil.

“The silent treatment after all that? Neil, you wound us. Why do you carry so much pride?”

Andrew took silence as an opportunity to drawl on.

“This is petty, Neil. Since you’re so affixed to the idea of leashes, I’m curious if your owner ever trained you to be polite.”

“Don’t break into my things, Andrew.”

Andrew laughed at Neil’s only reply. “This is a direct violation of my constitutional rights as much as it is yours. How do you know it’s not Matt? Where is my presumption of innocence?”

Neil’s eyes slid over to Andrew’s direction, sighing. He’d already broken his vow of silence. “Matthew Boyd is the son of two affluent figures and is privileged enough to be given the keys to every door he could find. He’s not someone who has to break his way into every locked opportunity. If you think for a second that I’m not smart enough to figure that out, then think again.”

“Astute, aren’t you? For someone who plays himself out to be an asinine delinquent, you’re quite perceptive. Clever, but unoriginal. Your disguise is fractured all over. Quick wit can’t save you all the time. I would know. I think you know too, but alas—asinine delinquent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Neil echoed Andrew’s words earlier, turning his gaze back to the road.

“And yet you know more than I do. What secrets do you keep hidden, Neil? Your diary has me curious.”

“I don’t know, let’s ask Kevin, shall we?” Neil said with a sick grin. Swinging his leg against Kevin’s seat, the impact was particularly large enough that Kevin was startled out of his reverie, cussing. “Hey Kevin, what other things do we share in common? Your monster is curious. Share him your insights.”

“Fuck off.”

“How did that earlier conversation go, by the way? Andrew, it must suck to be kept so out of the loop. Did Kevin apologize yet?” The absolute silence that followed his question warranted relishing. “My so-called disguise isn’t the only thing that’s fractured. How will you manage this, Andrew?”

“Neil, you’re just as much a part of this as Kevin Day is. Actually, you are involved more so than my own blood.”

“How flattering.”

“‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ There’s no deal between you and me, but there is one between you and Kevin.”

Neil brought his leg to kick Kevin’s seat once more. "Deal’s off; give me my knife back.”

“He doesn’t have it.” Andrew grinned at him, tilting his head to watch Neil’s reaction. Again, Neil denied him the satisfaction and Andrew clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Here’s my proposal, you ingrate: you’re going to Columbia with us. You can drop all the posturing, _and_ you get to see us interact outside of court—”

“There isn’t much of Kevin outside of court—”

“—You get to add more to that fanatical scrapbook of yours, _and_ you can finish up your sparkling analysis on me. We can’t last a year if we keep launching ourselves at each other’s throats.”

"I disrespectfully decline.”

Andrew’s grin turned cold as he spoke in a language only Neil understood. “You’re telling me you plan to domesticate yourself with the Dan’s crowd? Keep a tight enough leash and you’ll suffocate, Neil. You’re already struggling as it is.” He had a point. Sitting in Dan’s dorm and listening in on their conversations, albeit pleasant, was unbearable. It was hard enough to contain this frenetic intensity boiling inside him, let alone carry out actual acts that demanded an ounce of humanity. He still remembered Andrew’s knife at his back, and Kevin’s hands on him; remembered how much he ached for a real brawl. There were some things Neil simply couldn’t conceal without Ichirou.

Nicky called from the front. “Please, Neil? It’ll be fun! We have a place to crash in, since we actually used to live in Columbia, and we know our way around the best places in town. There’s a club that won’t card you, and Roland’s a doll. It’ll be our treat.”

“It’s our opportunity to fix the fracture, Neil. You caused this. I’m merely ensuring that we get along.”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you stayed out of my business.”

“You wouldn’t stay out of ours. Do you see where the lines begin to blur here? Can you tell whose business is whose?”

Neil paused in consideration. There was more to the fracture than Andrew was alluding to; a bone would have to be broken again if it didn’t set properly. This was Andrew testing his resilience just as it was Ichirou testing his loyalty. He was going to do this, he decided, out of spite. Andrew was sharp, though extremely rough around the edges; Neil was a polished blade. “My personal belongings are mine alone. Don’t touch it.”

“There is no judgement from me, Neil. Your penchant for diaries and its contents will remain between you and I, and I’ll refrain from invading your privacy once everything is settled.”

“When?”

* * *

Neil was grinning as he sat across from one Brian Seth Gordon in all his infernal fury whilst Allison Reynolds, sculpted like the Amazonian goddess that she was, strode across the room to sit by the arm of Neil’s chair. It was amusing at least for a brief second, before Allison slung her hand around Neil, giving him an appraising look as she leaned in. “Your fashion sense is a crime against humanity, but you’re pretty cute.”

There was something about intimacy that always shook Neil out of his disposition, having him grimacing and actually prying away from Allison’s amiable contact. Neil honoured a disciplining hand, understood a restraining grip, but he always found the casual touches to be most disturbing—especially so if it came from a girl. His mother had beaten all the interest out of him, and his brief time with Riko had permanently cemented his revulsion.

In the end, Neil shot up and stood by the wall, the action causing Allison to lose her balance and slide to the vacated seat. How she managed to make falling seem so regal was beyond him.

Seth snorted at Neil’s reaction. “You’re either a faggot or a freak like Minyard if you can actually resist her.”

Neil didn’t bother giving him any regard. “I’m sorry. I was uncomfortable sitting down. I just got stabbed a few hours ago.”

“Stabbed, he says,” Andrew mumbled, procuring the butterfly knife Neil had given Kevin. “He practically ran into my knife.”

Matt swore. “I thought you said you weren’t bleeding anymore?”

“I wanted blood on Andrew’s leather seats,” Neil said with a casual shrug. It really wasn’t much, though just as they arrived at court, Neil had pressed his thumb to the wound and smeared it on his seat out spite.

“Fuck, what’s your damage?” Seth grinned in a way that seemed more like he was baring his teeth.

"Brian, I know you like to talk big because you can’t seem to make up for all the excess in little things that you have, like that bigoted mind of yours for example, but I suggest you stop talking. You just might run your tongue through someone’s knife if you’re not careful.”

There was a beat of silence and a chorus of awed laughter from Nicky and Matt.

“Did you just call me Brian?”

The crazed glee in Andrew’s voice was addled with a peculiar sort of pride. “He’s not like me, _Brian_ , he’s a different breed.”

“Shut up, I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Wymack grunted as he sauntered into the middle of the room, his brows furrowed and his patience wearing thin. Jerking his head in Neil’s direction, he said, "That’s Neil Josten, our new striker sub. You all know what happened to Janie Smalls. Now’s your chance to state your opinions—oh wait, I don’t care. Let’s move on.

“We’ll start with physical exams; Neil’s got a knife wound, courtesy of the little monster, so he’s going to have to go first. Aforementioned monster is next, then Seth. The rest of you can figure it out. Do _not_ leave without going through Abby. I’m not getting paid enough to run after you.” Wymack directed his glare at Andrew, before sparing Neil the same. Andrew feigned innocence that lacked credibility, and Neil merely gave his noncommittal shrug. “Abby is handing out the same old forms. Save us the shitty ambling and just sign them.”

He droned on about practice, delivering information in a manner that was just as pained if not more so than the crowd who tried to remain interested. The sudden shift in atmosphere was extremely palpable as he gave his prelude to the news of the district change. Snide comments between Andrew’s lot and Seth were exchanged, Neil opting out of the conversation as he eventually lost interest in everything.

His mind was wandering to the dull sting on his back. He hadn’t been wounded in a while, hadn’t sparred in weeks, and had been denied of properly wielding a knife in so long. This burning need did not sit well with him, his memories playing out every blow as a testament to who he was. Restlessness was a familiar stirring in his gut. Typically, he burnt it out through the means of physical exertion to exhaustion. This new level of restraint Neil Josten’s identity demanded of him was driving him at his limits.

When Neil was jolted away from his thoughts, Kevin and Andrew had apparently been summoned for a private conference with Wymack. The rest of the room was still processing the news, some refusing to take it in out of disbelief.

Their nurse, Abigail Winfield, had just finished setting up her materials for the physical exams.

“David said you don’t want to take your shirt off, but you’re going to have to. Do you want me to have everyone leave?” Abby asked.

“The cut is really nothing serious.”

“I still need to check for track marks, Neil. Whatever you’re worried about, I’m sure I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Neil grinned at the challenge. “Is that so?”

“How bad could it be? She’s already seen Matt at his worst, and then there’s Andrew,” Nicky added.

Really, the only reason he preferred not to strip off his top in public was because of Kevin Day. As much as Neil could conceal his frigid eyes with contacts and dye his hair brown, there was no possible way he could get rid of the scars that littered his skin. Those alone gave him a distinct identity that Kevin would surely recognize. With the champion’s absence in the room, Neil gave a defeated sigh. “Be quick, and you can’t ask questions.”

Tugging off his shirt, he closed his eyes and fought the smile off his face as a colourful string of profanity was elicited from the room. He’d seen it all before, ranging from pity, horror, compassion, to curiosity, and yet each time, he found another addition to the assortment of reactions he garnered.

His wrists still sported scars from where metal had rubbed his skin raw all those years ago, his back overlapping with marks, and the skin raising where the scarring had been particularly horrid. There were instances wherein he’d been stabbed, most of which were lessons taught by his father when he had been too weak to deliver a lethal blow, and of course, there was the triangular iron burn on his shoulder. Just below his nape were a collection of oddly-shaped scars where nails had dug against his skin.

Neil cracked an eye open in curiosity and gave a brief scan of his surroundings. Dan’s brows were furrowed in concern, though her rage manifested as she clenched her hands to a white-knuckled grip. Allison had her eyes averted, a finely manicured hand lifted to cover her mouth, and Renee brought a consoling hand to rub circles on Allison’s back, though her eyes remained planted on Neil, empathizing. Seth’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion, and Neil bared his teeth in reply.

Matt was the first to recover, gesturing to his collarbone. “Is that a bullet wound?”

“No,” Neil lied blandly.

“When you said you came from a rough neighbourhood, this isn’t what—”

“Do you see any track marks?” Neil extended his arms to the nurse who stood frozen, her heart evidently broken by the sight. As Abby remained motionless and unable to recover, Neil mumbled as he pulled his shirt back over his head, “I guess that means you _haven’t_ seen worse.”

“Neil—“

“This doesn’t hamper my ability on court, so stay out of my business. Word of this doesn’t get out of this room.”

The event progressed as smoothly as it could with Abby’s excessive cautiousness impeding her efficiency. The room had fallen silent, and the petty, transient victory in proving everyone wrong had waned. Something peculiar settled its weight in the room, burdening Neil’s chest with a paranoiac sense that he still coveted everyone’s attention. He hated it. It was a creeping itch that crawled under his skin, aware of the eyes on him even as he kept his own closed for the most part.

Their hearts broke for him, because his wasn’t able to. They grimaced at the skin that had weaved itself over time, as if through imagination, they would share his pain and lessen the impact of what he had been subjected to. Their concern did not reach Neil; he saw it as pity, and only that. It was slimy as it was bitter, and he fought not to squirm in his seat in disgust.

Ichirou had taught him to wear his scars with pride—a testament to his strength and loyalty. Nathaniel Wesninski struck rattling trepidation through his stride alone, kneeling before an imperious force that never failed where his parents did.

Standing in the presence of a different crowd, there appeared to be an absence in pride. Neil Josten only felt revulsion, and vexation, and most of all, shame. He couldn’t accept their compassion as he hadn’t done anything that warranted their kindness, especially when he deserved every single blow.

When Neil spoke again, his voice had gone hollow. “Are we done?”

“Neil—“

He didn’t spare another beat in the suffocating presence of his peers and bolted out of the room. He had already broken into a sprint before hitting the road, only accelerating as he sought to distance himself from the court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> où est ma tête = where is my head
> 
> yeah, this chapter is pretty shitty too. sorry. blep.
> 
> my tumblr is right here: [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/) feel free to talk to me! i love comments sm!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil does things most kids his age do, like getting piss drunk on the sidewalk and starting fires
> 
> alternatively titled: neil breaks down pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: neil's anxiety 3.0, graphic descriptions of death, mentions of death, this chapter is pretty morbid...not like...extremely morbid but morbid nonetheless, alcohol and drugs, ????
> 
> [Starlight by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgum6OT_VH8) i love this song sm

Killing was not as inherent to Nathaniel as it was to his father. In his younger years, his father had force-fed a staggering cocktail of drugs and alcohol in order to haul him out of his shell-shocked state and force him to deliver a kill. His father’s men knew enough to ensure that there was little risk of overdosage, though by the time he’d been able to stomach the warmth of blood spilling on his skin, his tolerance and dependency had grown exponentially. Sobering up was a nightmare Ichirou put him through, though Neil understood that intoxication made him sloppy.

He never associated drinking with leisure. It was a means to an end during a time when he had been too terrified to pull a trigger, though it never really drowned out the tempestuous emotions he couldn’t afford to feel. It only impaired his judgement and turned his morals into a haphazard mess until those too waned out of existence. His relationship with substances was a turbulent one, and getting drunk only plunged him further towards the strange longing he typically suppressed.

Suppression only worked if Nathaniel knew what was required to be kept hidden, and so he drank. Perched on the curb of some unknown street with half a bottle of Crown Royal and two empty bottles of mudshakes, he watched the sun kiss the horizon with bleary eyes.

He was crying. Why was he crying? There was no particular reason to be crying, and yet he was. Arms wrapped securely around his legs with his knees folded to his chest, Nathaniel knew no means to fend off the tremors that racked through his body.

The Foxes pitied Neil Josten, and Nathaniel felt disgusted. He fed them nothing but lies that were dissected and brought to disrepute by Andrew. They doubted his credibility, and yet with what little they know of him, they sought to bring him solace. He saw it in their eyes, and it was disgusting.

Looking back into his past, Nathaniel figured that never had he ever felt as uncomfortable with his own skin as he was now. There was so much shame he couldn’t peel himself off of, and an incomprehensible bout of yearning that he refused to acknowledge.

Neil Josten was a lie, and yet he garnered people’s concern.

Kevin Day was an abrasive and spineless brat bred into the role of a champion, and yet he garnered prestige and admiration.

Andrew Minyard was a monster, yet he had a chance to prove otherwise and was given the opportunity to redeem himself.

Nathaniel was a mess, he knew that much. Nathaniel had been handed a knife and was told to fight for his worth. That knife he took with him to sleep, one hand curled around the handle whilst the words of his dead mother aimed to drown the agonized screams of men resonating in his mind. In his waking, he drew the knife close and taught himself to breathe, distinguishing his nightmares from the reality that surrounded him. At his weakest, he clutched the knife, wondering how different he would be had he evaded his father and the Moriyamas; and then he silenced his own thoughts as dreams only sought to separate him from his own reality.

It didn’t matter if he yearned to be worthy of people’s concern. What mattered was his survival, which Ichirou had ensured over the past five years. It was his own survival that he currently jeopardized at his show of weakness.

The sun had fully set. Hours passed since he fled from the court.

His thoughts chastised him and told him to go home— _back_ , not _home_. His thoughts chastised him and told him to go _back_ , though he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. His tears hindered his sight through his contacts, and he lacked his ability to even walk straight should he attempt to stand. He doubted he knew where he was, though he knew he had sprinted far from campus.

His phone was littered with notifications demanding where he had gone, and even after hours of no response, his phone still buzzed with calls and messages. He couldn’t risk giving away information in his drunken state, though he feared that Wymack would alert the authorities of his disappearance. Firing a text to ensure his safety would be best, though his coordination was currently lacking.

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he was scrolling through his phone at the list of unknown numbers asking his location when he received a phone call, swiping to answer. “Coach! I’m okay. You can tell everyone to stop bothering me.”

“ _Are you fucking drunk_?” Kevin must have recognized the slight slur in his voice. It made sense as Kevin was no stranger to liquor either.

“That’s odd. You’re not Wymack.”

“ _Where the hell are you_?”

“The Ravens took me, Kevin. Will you come and save me?” He laughed.

Neil found amusement in the struggle he heard over the line, unable to fight the grin on his lips when another voice answered this time. “ _Where are you_?”

“On the side of the road.”

“ _Which road_?”

“How should I know that, Andrew?”

Chuckling to himself, Neil hung up his phone and tilted back until he was lying down, gazing up at the canopy of stars overhead.

Neil had gotten way too sloppy over the past few weeks. It was an ignominious circumstance. Andrew and Kevin were wearing him out. He was drawn to them in curiosity and allowed his defences to thin out in the process. His best bet would be to lie and convince Ichirou that Kevin was a failed investment so that Neil could earn his chance to slit Kevin’s throat. It would be framed so that Kevin’s so-called suicide was the result of the abuse he had gone through as a Raven, altogether destroying the second branch through one fabricated suicide note. The media would be too engrossed in the tragic death of a champion to notice another failure from the Foxes, and Neil would be able to return to Ichirou. It was his cleanest shot.

Yet he couldn’t bring that fate upon Kevin Day. He was meant to emerge victorious despite the struggles he had faced, and Neil saw no right to extinguish that fire in his eyes. He was in pursuit of a passion—a raison d’être—whereas Neil merely fought for a chance to wake up everyday.

Neil couldn’t deprive the world of their champion, and with the way Andrew regarded him, it seemed that even the monster himself saw faith in Kevin. The two shared a mutual sense of trust even in spite of Neil’s attempt to sever the two apart.

And maybe, though Neil had no right to be, he was jealous of that. For the past few years, he had done nothing but fight for his worth. He had dedicated his entirety slaving for scraps of recognition and decency. Hadn’t he done enough to earn whatever Kevin and Andrew shared?

No matter how hard he fought, Kevin was meant for some greater purpose, and deserved so much more.

The sound of a car approaching had Neil sitting up, grumbling at the dizzying rush that shot up his spine and into his temples. He rubbed his eyes, his contacts falling out in the process and clearing his sight as the sound of footsteps grew closer.

“Get up. This is pathetic.” Kevin gritted his teeth.

“How did you find me?”

“Andrew tracked your phone. Stop wasting our time and get up.”

Neil blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sensation. He spared his bottle of whiskey a glance, giving a disappointed sigh as he emptied the remaining contents onto the sidewalk. Fishing out his lighter, he watched the concrete light up in flames, tossing his contacts into the fire. Fixated with the fire, Neil hugged his knees to his chest and stared wordlessly.

“I don’t know what the hell happened between you, Abby, and the rest of the Foxes since none of them are talking. Whatever it is, kid, we’ll figure it out. Come on,” Wymack’s voice called from behind Kevin. Neil was generally surprised to find the rest of the Foxes respecting his boundaries. Nicky was bound to slip up sooner or later, though the shock of Neil’s scars seemed to ease him into silence for now.

Neil managed a small grin. “I thought you said you’re not getting paid enough to run after us?”

“I know what I said.”

“You shouldn’t put up with this.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Neil looked up to find Kevin scowling down at him, Wymack parked to the side of the road while Andrew remained seated in the back. “I’m surprised you’re not drunk, Kevin.”

“You interrupted my plans. Let’s go.” Kevin sauntered towards him, holding Neil’s wrist and hauling him up. Fatigue writ in his limbs, it didn’t stop him from tensing up in Kevin’s hold, though his stumbling only had the elder drawing Neil further towards him.

“Get your hands off me,” hissed Neil.

“When you can walk, I will.”

Neil focused on evening out his breathing, reminding himself that it was only Kevin. It was all right. “I really hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual, and yet here we are.”

Neil glared up at Kevin, and with their proximity, he was sure Kevin saw the unadulterated helplessness playing there. The shock of his frigid blue eyes was enough for Kevin to seize up as though he recognized Neil, though it was gone within the next second.

Neil was deposited in the backseat of Wymack’s car, Andrew eyeing him with a predatory glance as he laid in the backseat. The AM radio was droning on about Exy news when the car sped away, and Neil closed his eyes as a sense of nostalgia washed over him. He could almost imagine his mother driving the car; he was thirteen again, and they were driving in Montreal, working towards adjusting to the Québécois dialect.

Spanning a few years back, he was eleven. Neil remembered his years spent in Europe, driving from Germany to Austria, then Switzerland. Their landlord in Germany was a sweet old lady who had a penchant for humming songs as she ran errands. Neil learnt most of what he knew of the German language from her and even hummed along with her as she taught him.

Neil found himself digging deep within the little pleasantries he got the luxury of indulging in, remembering pieces of the songs the landlady used to sing. " _Gott schütze dich, erhalt dich mir,"_ he mumbled to himself, sure that Wymack and Kevin were more engrossed with the radio to hear him.

“He speaks German. What a pleasant surprise. What are you thinking?” Andrew, however, remained as attentive as ever. Through Neil’s closed eyes, he could feel Andrew’s grin. A calloused hand on his cheek lured him out of his reminiscence. Andrew spoke in German just low enough for the two of them. “Are you delirious, Neil?”

“I was in Hanau, you fucker.”

Andrew set his arms on either side of Neil, caging him. “So it seems that you are. So early into this and you are already wearing thin.”

Andrew wasn’t going to hurt him, he told himself, though even if Andrew tried, Neil wouldn’t have had the power to fight back in his current state. Idiot. “Get off me, Andrew.” Everything felt too raw and unconcealed. Neil wanted to get away, to hide and disappear, yet right now all he could do was try to breathe, and even that seemed difficult.

Andrew’s forehead dropped against his, examining his eyes in fascination. “So many fractures. How do you live like this?”

Neil shut his eyes. It was Andrew, he wouldn’t hurt him. It was Andrew, he wouldn’t hurt him. It was Andrew, it was Andrew, it was Andrew. Neil opened his eyes and felt himself fall apart. Andrew saw everything. “Get off.”

Andrew lifted himself from Neil, giving him several inches to breathe. “Why do you fight, Neil?”

“I have to. I don’t want to, but I have to.”

“What do you want?”

Neil shut his eyes again and let his memories whisk him away. “To get away. France, Germany, Switzerland—anywhere but here.”

“You don’t have to fight.”

“I’ll die.” The same dead tone broke his disposition. _Why was he crying?_

“Death is inevitable. You’ll die either way. What are you afraid of?”

“I won’t hurt Kevin. That’s all you need to know, Andrew.”

Andrew chuckled, proceeded with pushing himself further away from Neil. The warmth Andrew was radiating grew distant. “Kevin wants this team to succeed. That is impossible what with you constantly breaking. Your identity, your credibility, your appearance—everything about you is fragile.”

“That’s not your business.”

“I can’t trust your word. Your honesty is elusive.”

It was hardly intelligible when Neil whispered, “You have Nathaniel’s word. You can trust him.”

When Neil woke up, he did so with a scathing hatred for light and a brain seemingly throbbing against his temples. It was seven in the morning, a convenient hour before practice, and he was currently cursing all hell as he emptied his stomach into the toilet. After doing so, he cleaned himself up and stood in the shower trying to piece himself together from the holes in his memories, before Seth threw his profane litany at Neil for monopolizing the bathroom.

With his contacts put in place and a murderous serenity playing on his face, he emerged from the bathroom as Neil Josten and raided the kitchenette.

“Rise and shine, princess!” Seth roared, savouring Neil’s hangover as he poured himself some coffee into a mug and swallowed three tablets of aspirin.

“It’s early in the morning, Seth.” Matt groaned into his coffee. Setting his mug down on the counter, he gave an empathetic look to Neil. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Neil raised a brow. “Are you trying to suggest otherwise?”

Seth scoffed. “What he really wants to know, smartass, is why Andrew showed up in the middle of the goddamn night with you passed out in his arms. It’s only been a month and—what, you two monsters are bonding now?” Shit. This was too much for the morning. The painkillers hadn’t started working yet, and the crippling fact that Neil’s memory was patchy did not help his headache.

Neil chugged his coffee, allowing the warmth to spread across his chest and calm him down. As he made no move to stop drinking and give a response, Seth rolled his eyes.

"What did I fucking tell you, Matt? He’s obviously got an attitude problem. You really think Day’s not fucking with us? This brat’s an amateur, and he can’t play.”

“We haven’t seen him play. If Kevin approved of him, I’m sure he can hold his own,” Matt reasoned.

"This kid’s a fucking joke off court. He won’t be any better when he starts playing. He’s a landmine and when he explodes, he’ll drag us with him.”

"Coach and Kevin think he’s Class I material. So does Andrew, since he actually bothered to say something nice. It’s almost a miracle, now that you think about it. Andrew hardly gave away any compliments.”

Neil finished his coffee and moved to refill his cup. “What did he say?”

“That you can run,” Seth replied. “It doesn’t mean shit if you can’t score.”

“Anything else you guys talk about behind my back?”

“Calm your ass. Everyone’s too scared of what you’re gonna do if they open their mouth about your scars.”

“When you left, Dan asked everyone what they thought of you. A lot of people are worried—Abby especially speaking. Nicky’s convinced you’re talented, and Aaron thinks you need to work on following Kevin’s orders. Andrew says you can easily outrun everyone, and Coach and Nicky agreed. That’s impressive, considering your height.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m in good condition.”

“Neil.” Matt gave a hesitant click of his tongue, as if debating on whether to speak his mind or not. Neil shot him a challenging look, and Matt sighed, shaking his head.

“‘Good condition’ my ass. If you can’t keep yourself together, I highly doubt you can even score.”

“I can, actually.” Neil paused to let the thought sink in. He was still a better backliner than he was a striker, though Ichirou had demanded he started training as a striker two years prior. Through his desperation, Neil thought that Ichirou was going to send him to Riko as Kevin’s substitute back then, and so Neil poured his hours into his training for the fear of Riko’s maltreatment. He was no stranger to Raven precision drills, and having been instructed to relearn the sport through the eyes of a striker, he worked to augment his abilities with much discontentment. “You asked if Andrew and I were getting along. I’ve been practicing with Kevin and Andrew every night while we do Raven drills during the day for the past month. I can score and keep myself together.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up in awe, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Damn. We might just have a solid offensive line.”

“So you really are one of the monsters.” Seth gave a sneer.

“Not at all. Andrew said it himself; I’m a different breed.”

“It’s the same shit, smartass.”

Neil shook his head. “You haven’t been around enough to judge me, so hold off your comments for when you can actually see me play and interact with Andrew’s lot.”

“You’ll find a place eventually, Neil. You’re a Fox now.” Neil very much doubted that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this hoe just graduated high school yesterday yeyeyeyeyy. so yeah, things are still a little hectic. it takes me about two days to produce a chapter which is about 2.8-3.1k in length, which is fairly slow, but it's my pace. sorry. hopefully i set up a regular updating schedule, but alas, summer is here and i plan to get lit. some real fuego. next update may get delayed because i plan to get drunk on canada's bday (july 1st) and the day after.
> 
> my tumblr is right here: [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> as always, feel free to drop a comment because they hella motivate me. i'll try my best with responses, but usually, i just stare lovingly at what y'all say when i'm taking a break from writing. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a deeper exploration of neil's violent nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before anything else, neil is definitely not okay. in no way at all is neil fine. please don't trust his narrative. he has a warped sense of perception, and if you can't already tell, his thoughts are an arbitrary mess without ichirou to "stabilize" him. he's an extremely unreliable narrator. if you're spotting little hints dropped in his narrative, and you wonder if you're over analyzing, you're really not. there's a lot of questions to ask. ichirou knows neil well and he knows how unstable neil is, so why did ichirou send him???? food for thought.
> 
> i don't want to give a run down of the status of neil's mental health, simply because i'm a 17-year-old and am not a professional. if you guys have anything to say about it, drop it in the comments and we can discuss :D
> 
> cw: ideation of violence, description of violence, homicidal ideation (ideation of riko's death, specifically)
> 
> [Kings by Tribe Society](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zU7co2-yn_Q)

Paranoia tore through his resolve with each passing day as his recollection continued to draw a blank. Andrew was unforgivingly cruel and dropped no hints as he savoured Neil’s struggle, smiling as he normally did in his drug-induced mania. Neil had no absolute intention of bringing up the topic of his drunken state for the possibility eliciting information. The odd looks Kevin sent his way only added further fuel to his restlessness. Altogether, the three refused to interact lest it involved Exy, which meant Andrew upheld his status as a spectator whilst Kevin continued to test Neil’s limits during their nightly practices.

He grew to hate Kevin’s attention altogether within the span of a few days, though Neil’s own discomfort was now a familiar feeling he knew to suppress. However, the company of the Foxes did aid in the process, having kept their mouths shut regarding their concerns on Neil’s overall stability. Watching the Foxes skirt over the topic only for their shoulders to sink in defeat when they opt for silence was disturbingly satisfying.

Neil remained true to his word on one aspect at least—the Foxes deserved that much for the trouble—that being the fact that he was a remarkable player. Their doubts in Neil Josten’s minimalistic Exy history were immediately extinguished as he took off in court.

With Kevin disadvantaged by his injury and Andrew’s nonexistent infatuation with the sport, Neil easily took the spot as the Foxes’ best player, though that was conditional. Kevin hadn’t earned his obedience, and Neil only complied with Wymack’s word. He kept his interactions with everyone else at a minimum, having sobered up from his previous mistakes, and dismissed niceties regarding his well-being with apathy akin to Andrew’s. It exhausted the Foxes’ captain to witness the sight, especially when Dan worked towards improving the team’s dynamics.

It wasn’t as if Neil was Dan’s most problematic concern, what with Seth actively antagonizing everyone on the team, Nicky actively antagonizing Seth and Allison, and Matt occasionally stirring aggression with Kevin. Neil’s infiltration of the Foxes had nothing to do with the existing animosity within the team, though a less sensible part of Neil did enjoy galvanizing the tension.

He found it was easier to play by Seth’s volcanic temper and pit him against Kevin as Dan was too busy overseeing the affairs of the entire team. Seth wasn’t more affable with Neil than he was with the rest of the team and actually found Neil to be rather multifaceted and difficult, but it was almost too easy to direct his wrath elsewhere. Seth was more than happy to initiate brawls with Kevin, and Neil was more than happy to let their numerous fights overshadow his own presence. It was a welcomed distraction for when Kevin would pause as if to recognize Neil.

He didn’t know how to answer to those curious green eyes as they seared against his own. Years ago, he struggled for even an ounce of Kevin’s attention in sheer desperation to move up his abysmal status in the Raven hierarchy. He thought gaining the second’s interest would protect him from Riko, or perhaps save him from further torment. They were both broken and compliant, grieving for the loss of their mothers and unsure of whether there existed a life beyond Castle Evermore. He thought perhaps a number tattooed on his cheek would finally earn him a home after three years of running. He sought to stand on the same pedestal Kevin stood and receive the prestige as the champion.

Yet when he finally did earn his position as third, and found friendship within Kevin, those same green eyes turned away whenever Riko took a twisted interest in Neil. “He’ll grow bored,” he had told him. “Just let him do what he wants and keep complying. Fighting will make it worse for you.”

There was no familiarity in Neil’s glacial gaze. Kevin had grown accustomed to a beaten body and a broken voice, of tears streaming down bruised cheeks and a pair of eyes who saw nothing but defeat. Kevin saw a shadow of that when Neil had been drunk and defenceless. It made sense that Kevin only recognized in his eyes the memory of a lifeless boy who grieved for his mother.

Kevin had no right to see him in such a way. Neil wanted to beat him for it.

“It’s better to obey,” he said. Stupid, spineless, pathetic _idiot_.

Neil still felt the sensation of bone unhinging from its joints and the swell of his own bloodied knuckles as his pulse pounded through his head.

If Kevin didn’t peel his eyes from Neil, Neil was sure he would have lost all restraint and launched himself at Kevin’s throat in front of everyone else. Thankfully, a racquet was held up in front of Neil in time, Seth scowling at him.

“Why the fuck are you doing suicide drills again?”

Neil gave a shrug. “Kevin.”

“Didn’t I tell you to practice your aim?”

“Ask Kevin.”

“That fucker,” Seth growled, shaking his head as he sauntered in Kevin’s direction. “Day!”

And as easy as that, Seth was the one launching at Kevin’s throat in lieu of Neil. Neil continued sprinting as he paid no heed to the commotion. Fights within the team did not deserve Neil’s regard. As vitriolic as they were, nothing amusing truly ever came out of them.

What deserved Neil’s regard was Andrew, who unsurprisingly found more and more methods to infuse creativity with the way he got under Neil’s skin. Andrew didn’t give so much of a damn for the sport than he did towards anything else in life what with his dysphoria emanating through his actions, but he went out of his way to specifically block Neil’s goals during scrimmages in the best way he could.

Neil wasn’t sure which to be more annoyed of: the fact that the team saw Neil as the one person other than Kevin to actually push Andrew into action, or the fact that Andrew was specifically challenging him. Either way, it broke Neil’s spiteful heart that he found little opportunity to reciprocate Andrew’s advances.

Dan’s voice was shrill as it pierced through Neil’s stream of thought. “Drop the fucking racquet, Andrew!”

Out of a fusion of curiosity and instinct, Neil snapped his eyes within the direction of the commotion, graced with he sight of Andrew pressing his racquet against Seth’s throat.

Seth’s face was flushed with fury, eyes widened with panic as he struggled to take in gulps of air. Straddled by Seth was Kevin who simply laid on the ground, his chest rising and falling. Seth had relinquished his hold on Kevin in a vain attempt to pry the racquet away from his throat, but alas, Andrew only lifted the racquet against Seth’s jaw to haul him away from Kevin.

Matt attempted to mediate, though as he got closer, Andrew only threatened to apply more pressure on Seth’s throat.

Wymack was quick to approach, striding in to pull the racquet from Andrew’s grip and distance Seth from a laughing Andrew with a firm hand on Seth’s shoulder.

Seth snarled as he fought to lunge at Andrew, only to be held back. “Stay down, goddamn it. You want him to crush your throat?” Wymack received a scathing look in reply and rolled his eyes. “Breathe for a fucking second. It wouldn’t hurt your mind if you used it for once. You—the brat and the midget—” he said, snapping his fingers at Kevin and Andrew—“climb the stairs. Seth, you can join Neil and do suicides. The rest of you, stop shitting around and get back to work unless you want to join these idiots.”

Andrew shrugged as he followed Wymack’s instruction, jogging out to climb the stairs. Kevin glared in Seth’s direction and wordlessly got up to follow Andrew, gesturing crudely to Seth as he left. Seth’s fists were clenched as he reciprocated with malice, spitting on the ground and shrugging out of Wymack’s grip. Instead of joining Neil, Seth simply left the court.

Later that evening, Seth continued on with his litany of a tirade, spitting vile slurs with every other sentence as he went back and forth between his issues with Wymack, Kevin, and Andrew.

Kevin and Andrew’s relationship seemed to be a topic he specifically enjoyed brushing over, insisting an underlying relationship profoundly beyond what they projected in public. “Those fucking faggots,” he growled, having uttered the same phrase for what felt like the millionth hellish time that night.

With the exhausting stair drills the pair had been forced to do out of consequence, Neil understood why they opted out of arriving to pick him up for their unofficial evening practices. It was to be expected that the two wanted rest, though it was still rather uncharacteristic of them considering Kevin’s dedication and the bestial stamina Andrew’s drugs induced.

Seth still cursed Neil as if his association with the two warranted Seth’s wrath by default. Neil easily deduced from the first day that anger was simply innate in the man.

Neil decided to save Matt the trouble of having his own anger flare up at Seth’s volatility, and pushed himself out of bed despite the protests of his sore body. He was serious about running his knife through Seth’s tongue, though he knew the satisfaction would only last a moment should he snap and do so.

Much to his dismay, his legs still carried him to the Foxhole Court, and no matter how far he wandered, he found himself returning back to that same location. He needed a moment with his thoughts on court, and had a hell of a peculiar urge to see what the court was like through the eyes of a backliner once again—to feel vulnerable and to lower his guard.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, staring at the obnoxious orange paint as he gave in to nostalgic temptation and strode in.

Perhaps he needed to pick at old wounds and create new lacerations to remind himself of his own desperation. This irrational fixation for Andrew and Kevin would kill him.

This was Kevin’s fault. Neil didn’t bother digging through the unravelled jumble of thoughts in his mind for a logical explanation; somehow, it was just easier to place the fault on Kevin, to feel spite and anger than to acknowledge whatever it was that was eating him away. Kevin took that anger in his stride as if it didn’t matter whether he deserved it or not, and the fact only pissed Neil off even more.

Neil spun his keys in his index finger as entered the locker rooms. A resounding noise of someone colliding with the lockers echoed. He arrived just in time to see Andrew shoving Kevin against the lockers. The two of them glanced at Neil before Kevin was released and slid down the to the floor, staring blankly ahead whilst Andrew dropped on one of the benches.

The two were a mess. Andrew’s hair was in disarray with random tufts sticking out in every direction. His fists shook where he clenched them, as if having trouble containing his own frenetic mania. Kevin’s collars were wrinkled, presumably from where Andrew had grabbed it.

Neil paused. Andrew’s car hadn’t been parked in the parking lot, which meant he let Nicky drive back without him and Kevin. He didn’t know what that insinuated, though he really didn’t care.

Half a beat later, Neil was pivoting and leaving. As he turned on his back however, he was rendered frozen by Kevin’s voice. “Have you come here of your own volition?”

“Seth was pissing me off. I needed a run and figured I could pick up something in my locker." Neither Kevin nor Andrew deserved a half-assed explanation or any at all. The lie rolled off his tongue instinctively.

“Yet you’re leaving. Why is that?” Andrew mused.

"If you two are fighting, I want no part of it. I don’t even want to watch.”

“A practice of non-violence after all the trouble you’ve caused? That’s erratic. You keep us guessing, Neil. Though of course that would be easier when you aren’t facing us.”

With an irritated sigh, Neil turned to his locker and proceeded to pretend he was taking something out. With a quick flick of his fingers, he waved his lighter around as though he had found it, and fished a cigarette out of his pocket. “What do you want?”

“To share, if you’re willing.” Andrew grinned at him.

Neil lit up another stick and passed it to Andrew.

He took a drag from the cigarette, letting the warmth embrace his chest before exhaling. When his eyes landed on Kevin, Kevin was staring at him again. “Fuck off.” Neil’s voice carried no weight.

The cigarette perched between his lips, Andrew brandished a knife out and approached the lockers. “Shh, Kevin, don’t talk. We promised him Columbia, and that’s it.” He arrived at a halt in front of Seth’s locker, busying himself with using his knife to pick at the screws. “Everything you want to say will have to wait.”

“You’re not pulling anything out of me.”

Puffs of smoke blew past Andrew’s lips as he chuckled. “We won’t have to.” He gave a celebratory hum as one of the screws in Seth’s locker came loose and clattered to the ground.

Kevin’s eyes remained planted on him, and in irritation, Neil flicked his current cigarette at Kevin, lighting up another one. He ignored the irritated hiss Kevin sent his way as Kevin crushed the cigarette with his heel.

“Since when?” Kevin asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If we can’t talk about anything that isn’t related to Exy, then tell me when did you become a striker?”

“Neil Josten has always been a striker. You know my record.” Neil said flatly.

“You love Exy.”

Neil hummed. “Do I? Not everyone who does anything like their life depended on it loves what they’re doing.”

Kevin’s brows furrowed, and Neil fought the urge to flick another cigarette at him. If Kevin opened his mouth, then the memories would return. Neil would remember everything, and he would have to live with how vivid everything was. He didn’t want to remember the fractured fingers and broken jaws, the bruised ribs and the soreness.

They came in fragments in his dreams, and sometimes through phantom sensations that made his knuckles throb and his brain pound against his temples. He didn’t want Kevin and Andrew to be there when he picked himself apart.

Beside him, Andrew was steadily humming as another screw came loose, and Seth’s locker door clattered to the ground.

“There’s a life beyond Exy, but you keep turning your eyes away from it. You always do that. If it isn’t Exy, it won’t concern you. It’s easier that way, isn’t it?” Closing his locker, Neil blew a puff of smoke before heading for the exit. "Do you ever stop and wonder, though, if your mother would be proud of what you’ve allowed yourself to become?“

Andrew’s cackling was a welcomed melody that arrived on cue, placing a grin on Neil’s lips as he walked away.

That morning, Neil woke up just in time to wash his mind of the memory of Tetsuji’s cane connecting with his ribs. He did so with a ghosting ache in his palms, his shoulders protesting from the waves of tension consuming his posture.

As he closed his eyes, he saw Riko curiously prodding at his wounds and bruises, and he shivered at the cold water cascading overhead, washing himself. As he closed his eyes, he saw himself with Riko in his grip, his hand on Riko’s throat. He shoved Riko’s head against the wall repeatedly, until he wasn’t sure whether the trauma or the asphyxiation caught Riko first. Neil didn’t care.

He had no control over the terror of his macabre dreams as he slept, but when he woke and chased those same dreams, he did so with crooked elation whilst relearning how to breathe. It only made sense that in order to ease a murderer’s panicked heart, he had to kill his own nightmares.

Sitting by the ledge of the ajar window, Neil drank his coffee in peace, taking deep drags from a cigarette in between sips as he listened to the AM radio. Serenity enshrouded him, and he relished a little more in the monstrosity of his thoughts. No amount of Seth’s bitching about the suffocating stench of smoke wiped his blithesome temperament which he carried throughout the day.

As a matter of fact, his good mood was only soured at the end of practice when Nicky approached him in gleeful tunes, handing him a bag of clothes. “It’s Friday,” Nicky sing-sang to him.

Neil examined the bag’s contents with curiosity, inwardly tutting at the material of the garment. He recognized the clothes’ labels and sighed disapprovingly, knowing that whoever took money out of their pocket did so paying more for the name than the quality of the clothes.

“What’s this?” He didn’t want to wear it. Nicky was going to make him wear it.

“We’re going to a club, Neil. Do you seriously think you can go clubbing when you’re dressed like a hobo? I’m sorry, someone had to say it. I actually agree with Allison on this one; your fashion sense is a crime against humanity.”

Neil fought the urge to scoff, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” he insisted, though he knew in his heart that was the biggest lie he’d ever told.

“Neil, this is a factual response okay? What you’re saying is false, you just don’t know it yet.” Oh, he _did_ know, and Nicky’s insistence didn’t make him feel any better about wearing his clothes. “Please, just wear it. Andrew guessed your size and provided me with money to buy clothes for you, and trust me, he never— _ever_ —does that. Wear it for me, please?”

Neil sighed and considered the monochromatic selection. It was an upgrade to his current fashion, so to speak, though he knew immediately from the artful tears in the clothing that it was not something he would buy for himself. He had a proclivity for tailored cuts and exquisite fabrics that had yet to wane. Comparing his taste to Nicky’s, he found Nicky’s to be rather juvenile and true to his age.

“You’ll look good in them, I promise. There’s no way in hell I would make you look bad.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, and the contacts need to go. Everyone knows they’re just circle lenses, Neil. Honestly, of all colours, I don’t understand why you’d pick brown.”

Neil shrugged. “Brown is nice.” He hated them. They dried out his eyes.

“Andrew said you shouldn’t wear them for tonight—hey! Where are you going?” Nicky followed him to the sinks where he cleaned his hands and removed the contacts, flinging them at the trash.

When Neil turned to Nicky, he did so wearily. “Anything else?”

Nicky stood frozen for a few beats, taking in the sight of Neil’s eyes. “That’s already so much better, Neil!”

“Nicky.”

“Right! We’ll pick you up from your dorm at nine tonight. Be ready!” Nicky trembled, unable to contain his vigour as he gave Neil another once-over before practically skipping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hah, yeah, boring chapter, i know. i didn't mean to pull a john irving on you guys but this chapter was a necessary evil. it's really just 3k of world building and development....sorry guys... i hate this chapter a lot too!!!!
> 
> but yeah, uh, neil broke last chapter, so this type of instability is to be expected from him...
> 
> so where have i been?! i've been gettin lit y'all!!! i went to pride toronto, i did some partying, and i'll be gone this weekend on a squad cottage trip, so there'll be more partying involved!!! woo!!! hopefully there's wifi bc i'm a city gorl and i can't survive w/o it.
> 
> drop a comment! let's chat! or, you can message me on tumblr via the chat thing!!! hell, you can even ask for my kik lmao. tumblr: [@minyardvevo](http://minyardvevo.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy.
> 
> y'all, i really don't edit my shit. don't got the patience/attention span. :P

Neil was examining the attire wrapped covetously around his form, a semblance of a grin making its way to his lips as he released a chuckle. Even among the bespoke suits he wore in Ichirou’s presence, he had been able to tuck in his knives where he had convenient access. The form-fitting material he currently donned provided no place for knives, which had been in Andrew’s every intention if Neil went by his judgement of Andrew’s character.

Andrew was good, and given the fact that Neil had spent a few weeks within the monster’s presence, Neil had to appreciate the manic craft in his intricate mind.

Still, the tacky leather boots Nicky had chosen him gave ample room to slip a small blade in. It had to suffice for the weekend.

For a moment, he considered the prospect of Kevin witnessing him as Nathaniel Wesninski with frigid eyes filled with unbridled fury and the glint of his wild copper tresses. His roots had begun to show, though only enough to be noticeable should Neil allow anyone to invade his personal space. Maintaining his hair would be a priority as soon as he arrived back from Columbia.

A knock on the bathroom door signalled Matt’s presence within the dorm. Seth didn’t possess the decency to knock, opting to pound his fist and yell obscenities at the door.

“Hey, Neil, I’m heading out with Dan and Renee—whoa, who dressed you up?” Matt stood before him against the ajar threshold of the bathroom, mouth agape. “Your eyes—I mean, er—Neil? What’s going on?”

Neil’s eyes drifted to the walls of the bathroom, then to Matt who stood by the exit. He thought for a second that the walls were closing in on him and he shook the thought away with a violent grudge. A coiling at the pit of his stomach had him brushing past Matt, leaving the bathroom and distancing himself a tad further.

Neil cleared his throat before speaking, “I’m going to be in Columbia with Andrew. Nicky picked this out.” He picked at the distressed fashion with disdain.

“That’s crazy! You can’t go!” Matt exclaimed with sudden profound conviction.

“I can’t?” Neil arched a brow. He knew what Columbia entailed and what Andrew intended to coerce out of him; he wasn’t an idiot.

Matt threw him a wounded glance that left a multitude of thoughts left unsaid. “He’ll destroy you.” He meant every word, and with a brief moment of hesitation, he gestured to his track marks in emphasis. “I’m still seeing someone because of what happened. Don’t let this happen to you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t go, Neil. I’m serious.”

"I don’t think declining is an option here.”

“I’ll tell him you got sick or something! There has to be some way.” Matt caught himself before he could say more, the pointed glance he received silencing him effectively. “Okay,” he sighs, nodding. “Okay,” he repeats, “just take care of yourself.”

Neil shrugged. “Have been for years.”

A rhythmic beat against the door had Matt striding across the room with a mask of irritation. Nicky staggered back as Matt approached him.

“Whoa, Matt, hey.”

“What do you assholes plan on doing?”

“Nothing as crazy as what we did to you. Andrew and Kevin have taken a keen interest in our Neil here.” Nicky’s nonchalance remained laced with benign affability as if he were discussing mere pleasantries.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, it’s just worth mentioning is all,” Nicky gave a dreamy sigh, examining his nails. Peeking over Matt’s shoulder, Nicky beamed, “Hey, Neil. You ready to go?”

Neil gave a simple nod, ducking under Matt before he was tugged back with a grip on his wrist. His response was one borne out of savage instinct, prying Matt’s hand away with his nails digging against Matt’s skin. Matt winced as Neil drew blood, and Neil recoiled, pulling away.

“Don’t you ever do that,” Neil warned, eyes dark.

Matt raised his hands, backing off. With a careful gesture, he tugged a folded receipt and tore off a piece, scribbling something and handing it to Neil. “If you need help, just call.”

Neil scowled at the note, then at Matt. Evaluating the possible convenience in appeasing Matt, he nodded stiffly and tucked the note in his pocket.

They strode in contained silence, Neil purposefully refusing to acknowledge Nicky’s ecstatic glee as he was appraised by the elder. It had taken several steps past Fox Tower and towards the parking lot where the monsters stood by Andrew’s car for the silence to be broken by a sniffle.

With a brow raised, Neil turned to Nicky and asked, “Something wrong?”

“Oh no,” Nicky’s voice came out brittle. “Just thanking God for giving me the honour of dressing a fine specimen is all.” With another sniffle, he raised a delicate hand to wipe away a nonexistent tear, fanning his cheeks.

Neil shot his eyes heavenwards, shaking his head.

“No, don’t shake your head! Do you know how much of a punishment it is for us to see you in _jorts?_ I might just team up with Allison’s bitch ass just so we can burn your entire wardrobe.”

Nicky babbled on whilst Neil’s eyes drifted from the twins and back to Kevin. The champion regarded him as if Neil had jarred Kevin out of his disposition, an anomaly that elicited eddies of transient memories best left to fade with the aid of time. It took all of Neil to keep his head held high and for his shoulders not to fall under the imperious weight of those green eyes.

“…but seriously, Neil, good _God._ You clean up so well! Are you sure you don’t swing?”

“Positive,” hissed Neil through bared teeth whilst glaring at Kevin. As much as Neil ached to reach out and land a punch at Kevin’s jaw, the satisfaction would ebb away too soon.

It was Andrew who closed the gap between Kevin and Neil with such efficacy that Neil found himself restoring his chipped composure. Not a single hint of Andrew’s typical mania lit his eyes aflame. Andrew carried himself in a familiarly subdued manner, calculative and quick to his wits.

“Keep talking and I’ll kill you, Nicky,” he warned with as much enthusiasm procured from a sideways glance.

Nicky mimed a gesture, zipping his mouth and making a show of tossing an imaginary key.

Andrew sauntered towards Neil until they were mere inches away from each other, uncharacteristically contained and resolutely calm as he brought a hand up to Neil’s neck. It was a mere brush, nothing more than a fleeting and featherlight touch that had Neil tensing, gooseflesh raising in his skin as he jerked away. Andrew caught him by his hair as he did, preventing him from distancing himself, and as instinct struck, Neil took Andrew’s wrist and attempted to pry himself away. Andrew did not relent, tilting his head in fascination.

A tiny echo of Andrew’s manic self returned with a grin. “Good.” In a voice low enough to only be heard between the both of them, Andrew hummed in German, “I know it will be difficult to do so, as erratic as you are in your disastrous nature, but try to uphold this show of honesty and you might just survive the night. Kevin is looking forward to chatting with you.”

Neil froze, his mind reeling in panic. What else did he know? What else had Neil divulged? Had he done something exceedingly detrimental to his own—

_Breathe, you idiot._

Shifting his vigilant eyes to give a quick scan as to who had potentially heard Andrew’s words was a blatant admittance that he understood the man, and so in lieu of doing so, he tilted his head in feigned confusion. “English or French, Andrew. I’m not a polyglot.”

“As you’re not a liar,” Andrew mused.

“Back off,” Neil hissed at the tightened grip tearing through his scalp.

Andrew instructed him in English this time, still speaking low enough that the exchange of words was merely between them. “Nathaniel,” he murmured so dulcetly, "I expect you to be on your best behaviour tonight.”

It was in that moment that time stood still, a biting torrent of ice chilling his spine. The mention of his name alone had his body moving on instinct, squaring his shoulders into an austere gait in one fluid motion. His own consciousness snapped into place as he caught himself clasping his hands behind his back and he scowled in irritation, halting the action.

In Neil’s previous show of weakness, he had gotten drunk; in Neil’s stupor, he had offered Andrew an arsenal.

Neil chuckled at the sick joke, averting his eyes and affixing them on Andrew’s jaw instead, licking his lips as he hid the cesspool of panic churning in his gut. “I really want to kill you.”

“My exact same sentiments.” With that, Andrew released his grip, his knuckles brushing Neil’s cheek. He mocked a bow, gesturing for Neil to enter the car.

Neil felt sick as he sat in his seat, felt suffocated as Andrew’s door slammed shut, fending off the tendrils of nausea that coiled from his stomach to his throat. In his head, he heard them—his father’s condescension rattling through the fragmented remnants of his mother’s lessons on survival.

_I expect you to be on your best behaviour tonight._

Everyone expected Nathaniel to act upon his best behaviour as if his compliance didn’t arrive at the cost of his own survival, as if docility and obedience earned him the privilege of vulnerability. From what he had learnt in the past, compliance was the resulting consequence of a broken will, a by-product of degradation. Those same words had been fed to him by his own father when he was forced on his knees at Riko’s heel.

If he closed his eyes, he knew that beneath his lids he would exist in a whisper of the past. He would remember his own desperation as he aimed to rebuild himself with the loss of his mother, and the way he so easily succumbed at a shitty excuse for survival.

With a weary sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck and fought the initial tension elicited from the action with a low growl. What he needed was a jarring reminder that he was no longer confined within four walls. The shadows did not melt into dark halls, and no one sought to cage him in with monsters. He was wasting his time mulling over the past.

Nicky’s yes flicked over to the rearview mirror in question. “Everything okay, Neil?”

“Absolutely.”

“Where we’re going is worth the long drive, I promise. We’re going to have so much fun!" Neil wished he shared Nicky’s sentiments. “Oh, Neil, could you be a doll and wake Andrew up? Just make sure you don’t touch him.”

Aaron groaned from his left, voice ladened with sleep. “You forgot the exit again?”

Outstanding.

With a sigh, Neil brought his hand next to Andrew’s ear and snapped his fingers repeatedly. The crisp noise was enough to elicit a violent reaction out of a disoriented Andrew, Neil fighting a grin as he caught the wild swing aimed in his direction. Neil tightened his grip on Andrew’s forearm in challenge, baring his teeth in reminder that Neil wasn’t going to make tonight any easier.

There was a slight tremor that tore through Andrew as Neil relinquished his grip, and he sunk back into his seat in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t appropriate to reciprocate Andrew’s taunts with one of his own—not when Andrew was ordering Nicky to pull over a minute later for him to dry-heave and cough his lungs out at the side of an exit ramp, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Withdrawal was a bitch.

Andrew’s state was only given a minute improvement when he’d consumed what Neil discovered was cracker dust. A neat little party drug, that one, the effects accompanied with little to no chance of an addiction. It had come from a peculiar little restaurant in Columbia known as Sweetie’s, the hosts running the operation seamlessly.

The place called Eden’s Twilight had Neil’s eye twitching at the very sight. His ensemble which he deemed juvenile and gaudy paled in comparison to the mass of leather-clad people lined outside of the club itself. He fought an inward groan, chewing at his lip. Neil did not pretend to be a man of refined tastes—that was his Lord Ichirou—though Neil did not deny the fact that he never once found himself taking a liking to any sort of garish appeal.

Through the cousins’ apparent connection, they were granted access to the club, saved from queueing up with the rest of the people outside.

Upon claiming a table, Neil was immediately dragged to the bar wherein three bartenders worked on staff, Andrew asking specifically for the one called Roland. The man smiled at Andrew, nodding at Neil in acknowledgement. “Welcome back! You’re getting frequent with your visits. Who is it this time?”

“He’s nothing.”

Roland simply nodded, casually sliding along with the small chat. “I’m assuming you want the usual?” He paused for an affirmation before turning to Neil. “What can I get you?”

“Water.”

Roland’s brows furrowed. “You sure? There’s soda.”

“Perrier.” Alcohol was tempting, and Neil wanted nothing more than to send himself into stupor, though he couldn’t afford it tonight. Better that the water was sealed.

Neil felt Andrew’s eyes on him, and he shifted a glare in the man’s direction. “What?”

“This is futile,” Andrew simply stated, his lips spreading slowly to a grin. He made a small gesture indicating Neil’s resistance, waving it off dismissively.

“I will not make this easy for you.”

“As I can see,” Andrew mused.

Roland pushed away from the counter and immediately proceeded with preparing the order. The drinks arrived in a tray soon enough, Neil’s water having been poured into a glass, much to his dismay. It wasn’t a surprise to Neil should he find that someone slipped something in his drink.

Cracker dust reappeared just as the group finished multiple rounds of their drinks, Neil’s insides attempting to erode his willpower as he watched them down their shots. The sight of drugs snapped his mind into focus and he jerked back with a foul snarl when Aaron tossed a packet his way. Unsurprisingly, Aaron sat unfazed by Neil’s reaction, barely acknowledging it with an eye-roll.

“Are you seriously not taking that—” Nicky was silenced as he teetered over the receiving end of Neil’s impending malevolence. Raising a careful hand, he inched away from Neil as he spoke a thoughtful response, “Well, can I have it?”

Neil wordlessly flicked the packet in Nicky’s direction, watching it skid across the table and drop over the edge to his satisfaction.

“Such contempt,” Andrew remarked.

A pang of betrayal pierced at Neil’s chest when Kevin took a packet as well. Neil could almost feel the phantom sensations of cold sweat breaking out over his skin, nausea rolling up his throat. “Don’t,” said Neil with a pointed look. Eyes turned to Kevin, he gave snapped, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Fuck off. You think I’d sacrifice my own career for a night out?” Kevin challenged.

Ever so slightly, Neil’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. “What career?” He retorted, earning Andrew’s grin. He waved a dismissive hand at Kevin’s reply, moving along. “Just stating a matter of fact: drugs are stupid.”

Andrew spoke this time. “You wound us, Neil. To go out of your way to insult this crowd, are we really far beneath your feet? Is it cold where you are—so high up in your pedestal?”

“It’s not some self-righteous pride.”

“Pray tell, Neil, do enlighten us on this visceral grudge of yours.”

Neil was silent for a moment, striving for whatever it is that would efficaciously deliver his thoughts. Andrew waited patiently, hunger painting his eyes with eager curiosity. When Neil began, he did so quietly, glaring at Kevin as he tipped back dust into his mouth. “If I reached into Kevin’s pocket right now, dug out your antipsychotics and shoved them right down your throat—the feeling you would get then is relatively similar to how I feel.”

There was a lack of response on Andrew’s end as Neil watched the man seemingly develop a disinterest for the conversation. With Andrew’s attention fleeting, Neil added, “If you drug me tonight, I’ll never forgive you.”

Neil doubted his words would deter the monsters from attempting to have him intoxicated one way or another, though he was aware that the words he’d slung had stung. It was imperative he dove for every opportunity to distance himself considering he was at a disadvantage. Besides, it wasn’t as if his language diminished the verity of his statement.

Nicky heralded for another round of drinks, much to Neil’s dismay, and the night dragged on with several offers of cracker dust courtesy of the twins. With every offer, Neil responded with a scowl, flicking the packet away. He steeled himself through his bare responses, his throat closing up as he submerged himself deep within his own memories, repelled by the horror the drugs brought on. He knew better—he _had_ to—for his own survival.

It seemed it was Nicky who had the good sense to notice that Neil wasn’t ever going to touch the cracker dust, shaking his head and blurting out in German, “This isn’t going to work, Andrew.” At Andrew raising a brow, Nicky continued, “He’s not Matt; whatever issue he’s got with drugs before, he certainly won’t trigger Aaron with it now. He’s not in any risk of a relapse.”

Andrew’s eyes flicked in Neil’s direction, and Neil masked the satisfaction upon eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I’m aware of that, Nicky.”

“What’s your angle then?” Nicky asked, just as he was distributing another round of drinks—the last one, Nicky announced, before he planned to dance.

Andrew gave an indolent shrug, slumping in his seat.

With a weary sigh, Nicky presented two shots before Neil. “Vodka,” he indicated to one, before gesturing to the other in a slightly pained manner. “This one’s Perrier. Your choice, Neil.”

There was a beat, then Andrew reached for the shot filled with Perrier, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he distanced it from Neil. “I suggest you take the vodka.”

They drank, and Neil opted for his water with spiteful defiance. The sugar that enveloped his tongue as it slithered down his throat indicated a miscalculation on his part.

“What is it with your predilection for disobedience?” Andrew asked dryly.

“I’ll kill you!” Neil spat as he shifted to lunge for the goalie, only to be pinned down by Nicky and Aaron.

“You wouldn’t,” Andrew gave a resolute sigh, giving Neil’s vodka a swift sniff before tossing it back. He wouldn’t—or rather, he couldn’t with his current state, the eddies of dread already being dulled by the warm haze shooting up his throat, enshrouding his chest and leaving a dusted pink hue on his cheeks. And just like that, his years’ worth of a cleanliness had been eradicated by his carelessness.

He could hear his own pulse thundering through him as he blinked away the waves of disorientation that left his head light but his chest heavy. Andrew’s warmth radiated towards him in a way that had him instinctively tensing up, limbs uselessly flailing against where he’s pinned in place. Every flurry of thought sought to overwhelm his rationality and he bit his lip, not trusting his voice to mask the terror rattling through him.

Andrew examined the dilation of his pupils, the curious glint hinting at a familiar occurrence. “A minute or so, and we can finally begin.”

Neil’s heaving swelled towards a scoff, his shoulders trembling as something akin to a humourless laugh bubbled out of his chest. “What, do you expect me to be a good little boy until then? ‘Junior, will you listen, now? You’re only hurting yourself. You think saying _please_ will change anything?’”

Words uttered by his father’s lackeys that once had his breath stuttering to a halt—Neil hadn’t thought them to be ammunition until now.

“Enjoy the night while it is still young, Neil.” Neil didn’t trust his drug-addled mind’s judgement at the very least, though he couldn’t ignore the strain in Andrew’s voice as he distanced himself from Neil.

Relinquishing their grip on Neil was a mistake; the moment resistance left, he was already struggling to fish out the knife he’d stashed in his boot, brandishing it with a trembling grip. He wouldn’t survive a match against all four of them—not when his legs trembled and his knees felt like they would buckle any second.

His mother’s voice hissed in his mind, berating him for his carelessness. He tried desperately to shake his mind into clarity yet he couldn’t help but agree that this was his own fault. If he had been _smarter_ and had _better control_ over himself, he wouldn’t have ended up in a position of weakness.

He had to get away—he had to, and so he pushed past the dancing throng, with wide, vigilant eyes scanning his surroundings. If Andrew wouldn’t let him leave, then the best way to go about his predicament would be to search for a secluded spot—somewhere he could breathe. But the haze that had set itself in his mind along with the people and the ambient twinkling lights didn’t grant him a lot of escape routes.

Under normal circumstances, running helped to clear Neil’s mind of his mother, of her disapproval if she ever saw him assume the role of his father. He focused on his breathing intervals: in for four beats, hold for two beats, and out for two beats. He ran until his tears had dried, and his panic had been all burnt out, left with nothing but a cool exterior masking the savage glint in his eyes.

In moments where he could not escape, Ichirou had him sparring with his lackeys until blood warmed his knuckles and he ached all over; and he felt nothing but disgust.

Had Ichirou thought him to be civil enough to carry this out? To handle one of the Moriyama family’s prized investments when he’d been programmed to attack and destroy?

Choking a sob down his throat, he thought of the man he served, and how he strived to please Ichirou with every task. He would not— _could not_ —fail him. He would die.

Rushing into the toilet, he emptied the fluids in his stomach, ignoring the acidic burn it left on his throat as he heaved, desperate to ground himself. His cheeks were damp, skin covered in a sheen of sweat mixed with tears. It didn’t suffice, though as he ran his head through the icy water and cleaned himself as best he could, it at least helped bring his thoughts into order.

He was restless. His nerves were a trail of fire and his knuckles throbbed with a phantom sensation that set his mind clawing for that memory, eager to drown his thundering pulse. And _god,_ did he feel raw all over, bare for Andrew to dissect.

It wasn’t difficult for Neil to gather whatever he had left of himself then, peering at the edge in his bloodshot eyes as he clenched his hands into fists and stormed out. His mother and father broke him in until he healed and came out stronger—wiser—and he needed that. His body ached for that as he was bombarded with memories of every hit, every searing blow that was thrown his way.

He strode out, deaf to his name being called out, and when Nicky caught his wrist, Neil responded with a punch to the gut that had Nicky reeling back. His vision was failing him as he made his way towards the exit out back, grinning at two employees on their break. He felt a grin stretch on his lips, flicking through the bills in his wallet as he called to their attention, “How’s a couple hundred for a fight?”

And it felt so right—so _natural_ —that he was grinning to himself the moment he hit the ground. It was pain that serrated through his panicked flurries of thoughts, and it was pain that instantly brought him up, launching himself at one figure and landing one jab after another. His wrists felt sore, and his breathing remained ragged in between what he couldn't discern as a laugh or a sob. A different kind of warmth blossomed on his knuckles and he paused to give them a glance, crimson spilling through his skin. His name was being called, his mind registered somewhere beneath the easy trance he fell into.

It was only when he was tackled to the ground, that he was snapped from his reverie, a firm grip on the back of his neck pinning him to the ground. Just like that, blood pounded in his ears again, tensing as the action brought him back—way back into the past; his father’s grip was so tight on him that his nails often drew blood as he pinned him down to his rightful place, bowing at Riko’s feet, and every time he’d forget, his father would push him to the ground as a firm reminder of whom he was supposed to serve.

“Get the fuck off me!” he roared, and yet he began to feel sluggish, unable to get the weight off him, unable to even get a lungful of air. He couldn’t fight past the grip over him, and he trembled involuntarily, uncertain as to what he should do.

“Neil, Neil!” someone called, and yet his eyes remained distant even as he went slack against that hold. He had to yield, or it would get worse—or perhaps he deserved that. He did, didn’t he?

His vision clouded as he looked around. The two men he fought supported each other, one constantly wiping the blood that trickled down his nose whilst the other was engaged in a hysterical conversation towards a blond figure and a taller figure.

“Nathaniel!” a voice snapped—clear, familiar, and resolute—and his head rose in search of that sound. Green eyes met his own, though perhaps that was an echo of the past too, a reminder of the trickle of attention he’d been so desperate for. And just like that, the world vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as i'd like to say i have a good reason for leaving another god damn cliffhanger, i really don't.
> 
> sorry for the delay, y'all. i've been dying from uni!!! shit!!! i regret going to uoft!!!! i just finished my midterms y'all so i spent this week tryna breathe and shit bc uni's got my health declining. i miss my queer art squad so very much. the straights^(tm) are fockin everywhere and highkey i just want a gorlfriend. someone i can be blatantly gay with. free the gays.
> 
> uhhhh if y'all didn't like the update, hit me up [@minyardvevo](https://www.minyardvevo.tumblr.com) tbh or leave hate down below and i promise i'll get to y'all with a sweet ass dank ass apology <3
> 
> if y'all wanna flirt with me and shit, my instagram is [@pleated](https://www.instagram.com/pleated/) pls hmu


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a scorpion shot* i ain't dead hunties

C08

Kevin remembered a boy, terrified, weak and scrappy, as though his insides rattled against his bones; a boy with dimmed eyes whose hue was that of a cloudless, serene sky—eyes who bore no glint as any sort of childlike glee was extinguished by trauma. That boy trailed after him with a desperation for approval, lost and afraid of the battery he received from every mistake he performed. That boy heaved against his pillow when he startled awake from his nightmares, smothering his panicked sobs with a frantic urge to calm down. Ravens did not show weakness.

Every time Riko and Tetsuji broke the boy, he would emerge colder, his eyes darker, but he always followed Kevin with a visceral yearning as if Kevin had the ability to take the pain away. The best Kevin had to offer was to patch the boy back up after the ordeal.

Kevin loathed himself as he watched the boy come to accept his position each time with newfound clarity. The boy ceased from tensing and relented every time a grip came to the back of his neck, masking the panic in his eyes with something inscrutable as he dropped to his knees out of ingrained habit.

The boy was quick to learn, eager to douse his emotions and comply to Riko’s wishes until the boy no longer cried, no longer quaked in trepidation and instead embraced the abuse. But then Riko had grown bored, and he brought the boy’s nightmares to life. Riko ignited the boy’s worst fears and left the boy’s last bit of hope to burn as he was trapped in that room, pleading for help.

Two Ravens grasped harshly for the hysterical boy, their nails clawing at his skin, and they cornered him against the walls of the room until the boy snapped. Kevin remembered the boy launching himself at his aggressors with a savage fury, the wild screams still reverberating in Kevin’s mind from time to time. The boy had been bloodied and bruised, and he cried as he threw his punches until his knuckles were bruised and stained with blood that did not belong to him. Riko had been so entertained that he threatened to host a rematch and the dread that drowned Kevin was only alleviated when the boy grew ill and delirious.

By the time Kevin saw him again, the Nathaniel he knew was dead.

* * *

Nightmares were meant to be anticipated. They poured over him with a viscosity that left him with agitated disgust crawling beneath his skin. His old scars would bear phantom licks of pain until memories of his past receded and he regained autonomy over his own body. Nathaniel didn’t jerk awake from his nightmares; he mulled over them, digested them until he could harness his fear into something lethal.

This nightmare was tame. Nathaniel succumbed to it the same way he would towards the near inherent motions of a killing blow. He was slack against the hand on his nape, and allowed himself to be hauled towards wherever it was he was taken to. It was dark, and it echoed, and his skin met the cold tile as he was dropped to his knees. Was it a bathroom?

Ah. This time, it was the tub.

When a person grew tired prior to Riko declaring the conclusion of their fun, Riko had their head dunked in a tub of melting ice cubes as a means to summon consciousness. It was either that, or force-feeding them shots of vinegar until they woke. Nathaniel preferred the tub.

It was fine. Nathaniel would wake and carry on—except perhaps he heard Kevin protest against the treatment with such surety. It was odd. A backbone was an alien concept to Kevin, and the fact that Kevin continued to express his disapproval confirmed that this was in fact a naïve dream that wormed its way into Nathaniel’s nightmare.

“That is enough! Let him be! You won’t get answers from him.”

“Not with that attitude,” drawled out a voice, a peculiar voice that wielded a serrated edge. “You will help, Kevin. I aim to fulfill my end of the deal to protect you from harm.”

Protect?

_Who are you?_

“Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“Procrastination does not suit you.”

Kevin growled. Kevin never growled at Riko. This wasn’t Riko. “Andrew!”

Andrew.

_Andrew?_

“Don’t!”

This wasn’t a dream, Nathaniel realized as his head was submerged in the frigid water. It only took a second before he was taken back to the surface, his body startled to complete consciousness. Blood was pounding in his ears, his shoulders weighed down by the burden of fatigue. He blinked until his vision regained clarity to the fascination of hazel eyes.

“Good morning,” Andrew greeted dryly.

His body wasn’t responding regardless of how much he willed to get away. Knives twisted in his gut as nausea would, and Nathaniel opted to focus instead on breathing.

“Let him go.” It was so strange of Kevin to defend him now, jostling Nathaniel out of Andrew’s grip and wrapping him with a towel.

Slowly, Nathaniel’s gaze slid from Andrew to Kevin. Whatever Kevin saw made him freeze, dread seizing Kevin’s chest and making his breath hitch. Nathaniel hated it. He spat on Kevin’s cheek, snapping him back to reality, and Kevin recoiled.

Nathaniel’s mind instantly snapped towards containing the damage he’d caused. “What did you tell him, Kevin?”

“Nothing,” Kevin mumbled, fighting to shrink upon himself as he took a step back.

“Kevin,” Nathaniel hissed. Cold eyes narrowed into slits, his lips spreading to bear his teeth. This was his father speaking for him, Nathan’s teachings coursing through him. “Tell the truth, Kevin. What did you say to him? Do I have to make you talk? I don’t want to have to do that, Kevin. You won’t make me do that, will you?”

“I didn’t tell him anything, I promise!” Kevin was trembling as he took another step back. Nathaniel grinned, high on power.

“Kevin, don’t lie. You’ll make this worse for yourself.”

“Nathaniel this isn’t you.”

“Kevin.”

“Nathaniel, _please!"_ Kevin’s voice broke. His back grazed the wall opposite from Neil and he slid down, hugging his knees to his chest. Shoulders sinking in defeat, he spoke lowly this time, ”Andrew knows who you are and who you work for. Only Andrew. Nicky and Aaron are asleep downstairs. They don’t know anything.”

“What else, Kevin?” Nathaniel adopted a patronizing tone—the kind that slithered with a consolatory guise but left the receiving squirming to be released from the interrogation.

“Nathaniel,” Kevin whispered. He appeared to be in search of something, tilting his head. His jaw hung open in bewilderment, as though unable to fathom Nathaniel’s behaviour. There was something broken in the way he said Nathaniel’s name, ladened by grief. A tear rolled down Kevin’s cheek, shaking his head in what almost seemed like denial.

The fear emanating from Kevin made Nathaniel’s head throb even more, and he leaned against the cool tub, letting the coolness ease the hammering in his temples. Andrew slid him a glass, which he gingerly took and examined, scowling when he heard Kevin’s breathing grow ragged. With a quick flick of his wrist, Nathaniel doused Kevin, emptying the contents of the glass. “Wake up, Kevin. We’re not in Castle Evermore anymore.”

Nathaniel stiffened when Andrew brushed his thumb over the back of Nathaniel’s neck, shifting over to meet dilated pupils that glinted with interest. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Nathaniel. I didn’t know you had such a colourful history with Kevin.”

Nathaniel scoffed. “That’s a stretch. I was only a Raven for a brief interlude.” It was a brief interlude, but in those months, every second spent in the darkness of Castle Evermore was an eternity.

Andrew nodded. “You are your own breed.”

Nathaniel didn’t reply. He sat in silence for a few seconds, eyeing Kevin whose eyes were glazed, and Andrew who was mere inches away.

Andrew brushed the back of his neck again, and Nathaniel failed to suppress a light tremor ravaging through him.

“Who did that to you?” asked Andrew.

“Why don’t you tell him, Kevin? What did they do to me?” It was completely unnecessary, yet Nathaniel hadn’t known how much he wanted to hear Kevin tell his story until he’d urged Kevin to do so. “Come on, Kevin. You were there too.”

Kevin was wary as he spoke, his fists clenched. “He was fourteen,” Kevin began, his voice hoarse. “They found him in a hospital. His mom had recently died. His father dragged Nathaniel to Castle Evermore by the back of his neck. Nathaniel had to kneel out of respect, but he wouldn’t do it. He _wouldn’t do it_. His father beat him every single time, shoved him down to his knees when he was all bloodied and pressed his face to the ground by Riko’s feet. Every time Nathaniel was unresponsive from the shock, they beat compliance into him and forced him to the ground by his neck. They didn’t have to do that. His mother just died and they made him beg and—”

“Shut up. Don’t be dramatic.”

Andrew was silent, digesting the information before proceeding. “Your father is a murderer.”

Nathaniel grinned an affirmation.

“You’re a murderer too.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “The mantle had to be passed down to someone competent.” He didn’t tell him how Nathaniel wasn’t the only one. Nathaniel was the deadliest, but Ichirou had an arsenal at his disposal.

“You were sold to the Master to become a Raven. You couldn’t simply move to the main branch."

“No, but Lord Ichirou asked for me,” he proclaimed with a smirk. The sheer admittance had his chest swelling with pride; Lord Ichirou wanted him more than Riko—his own blood.

“The heir gets what he wants. Why are you here if not to murder Kevin? What does Ichirou want?”

“Kevin is not my target.” The best way to conceal a lie was to weave it between a shroud of truth. Except Andrew seemed to take the statement rather eagerly with a nod. “You believe me,” Nathaniel accused him.

“Kevin is too well protected by his public notoriety. Murdering him would be suspicious.”

“Not really. Did you know I can take care of Kevin in the same way someone took care of Smalls?”

“But you wouldn’t. Why is that?”

“Kevin is a long-term investment, and the cost does not outweigh the benefits as of yet. We stand to gain more with him around.”

“Is that why your father’s still alive?” Andrew wasn’t sneering. It was a genuine question. There was no benefit in having a professional killer rot in prison.

A mask slipped over Nathaniel’s face. “That is none of your business.”

Perhaps this mask was one that resonated all too well with Andrew as he merely brushed his thumb over Nathaniel’s nape once more. A chuckle spilled from his lips when Nathaniel resisted the urge to sink below Andrew. “Well done,” he murmured, carding his fingers through Nathaniel’s hair.

Andrew tutted at the light roots, his eyes calculating the situation.

He slipped into German, as he jerked his head in Kevin’s direction. “Unfortunately he values you more than you think. He’s got a penchant for lost causes.”

“You mean like yourself?”

“We’re a lot more alike than you and I both like to imagine. Again, I’m stuck with another charity case. I will not be giving you a wide berth, although you will be free to do whatever you please so long as you don’t endanger Kevin."

“I don’t need your protection nor your permission to operate.”

“Did I say anything about protecting? You’re an anomaly. You’re to be poked and prodded until I figure you out.”

“Kindly fuck off.”

"And so I will so long as you agree to our terms.”

“Yeah? And what do you gain from this?”

“Nothing. You’re a hyperfixation to be tossed aside the moment you start making sense.”

Nathaniel scoffed.

“If that’s all—“

“No. I have one more thing.”

Andrew raised a brow.

“You drug me again, and I will cut you.”

Andrew laughed gleefully as he made an exit, leaving Nathaniel and Kevin at each other’s mercy.

The two stared at each other for several beats, Kevin increasingly picking at his skin until Nathaniel’s sigh jolted him out of whatever headspace he was in.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin murmured, his voice rusty.

“God, shut up.”

Kevin flinched, averting his eyes as he proceeded with digging crescent-shaped marks along his forearms. It pissed Neil off.

“You couldn’t have done anything. It was either you or me.”

“What?”

“What could you have done in that situation, huh? You think if you’d become Riko’s punching bag, you’d have saved me from the same fate? Fuck off. You’re not that special.”

“I don’t…understand.”

“Kevin, had I been in your shoes, I don’t think I’d have acted any differently. I don’t need to see your bullshit pity every goddamn time you look at me."

“So what do you want me to do?” God, the sheer need in that statement.

“Be as insufferable as you usually are.”

Kevin let out a hollow scoff. “You want me to play bait?”

“Get to Court and make money for the Moriyamas. The more good you do, the worse Riko looks. My terms haven't changed.”

“Be reasonable, Nathaniel. You can't seriously think you can kill a Moriyama.”

“Watch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FORGOT HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING EMO NEIL JOSTEN IS WHAT A PUNKASS  
> this will be the last time i ever try to do anything edgy canon-divergent in this fandom  
> after this, it's all AUs and sunshines, mi amigos  
> ALSO imo the pacing is way too slow for this fic. i hate this sjhgfkjshf
> 
> send me hate here [@minyardvevo](https://www.minyardvevo.tumblr.com)  
> flirt wit me ass here [@pleated](https://www.instagram.com/pleated/)


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